


Hipsters Versus Dragons

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Beards (Facial Hair), Co-workers, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Humor, Heroic Arthur, Hipsters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Arthur, Pining Merlin, Side Annis / Leon, So much pining omg, Too Damn Heroic for his Own Emotional Wellbeing, because why not?, merlin's beard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: In response to Morgana's latest edict, designed to lure in customers, Merlin grows a hipster beard. Arthur doesn't like it. Or rather, he does.





	1. Camelot Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the June 2017 Tavern Tales Theme "Charms, Tokens, Medals". It's a work in progress, but I'll update regularly til it's all done. Thank you so much, all of you who read and commented over there! 
> 
> Disclaimer: not my characters, I'm not getting paid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***UPDATE: NEW: Now with fantastic art pieces, created by the fabulous tibeyg ***  
> The amazing [tibeyg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tibeyg/pseuds/tibeyg) has created some truly splendid art pieces to go with this work. I feel incredibly privileged to have inspired such amazingness! Please go over there and leave her ALL THE LOVE!!!!  
> [Art for Hipsters Versus Dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11772555)  
> Or you can go and say hi to her on tumblr here http://gayusoctgayvius.tumblr.com/

Arthur strode up to the door of Camelot Coffee as if he owned the place. Which was very nearly true. The door stuck a little as he pushed it open. As usual, it set the bell jingling above his head as he stopped on the threshold. A gust of wind wailed through the door, taking a blast of autumnal cold into the shop with it.

Not that it mattered. Despite the new, enticing all-day breakfast menu, there were only a couple of customers. One of their vanishing number of regulars, a middle aged white woman, sat at the counter, typing away on her laptop, with a bacon butty congealing in front of her. Over in the window seat, another regular, a youngish bloke with a mop of curly hair and skin so pale that it was almost translucent, was sitting with his legs curled up under him, staring at a plate of scrambled eggs. Arthur frowned, and made a mental note to ask him not to get his feet on the upholstery.

But it wasn’t the lack of trade that made him stop abruptly on the threshold. No, what gave him pause was the appearance of his most recently hired staff member, and constant thorn in his side, Merlin Emrys.

“Merlin,” he blurted, ignoring the way that the door banged into his backside, making him jerk forward on the threshold, because everyone knew that the British way was to keep calm and carry on, without acknowledging the impolite way that entropy, nature and doors and stroppy, unfairly attractive staff conspired to make a man lose his dignity. Stumbling a only little, he took a step up into the empty cafe. “What’s with the hideous face fungus? What on earth have you been eating? Baby Bio?”

Liberal whorls of thick, black hair adorned Merlin’s upper lip, chin and cheeks, with no regard for neatness or propriety. Thick clumps of it clustered around Merlin’s neck and up towards his ears. Arthur could have sworn that Merlin had been clean shaven only three days previously, which meant that Merlin had somehow managed to grow about five millimetres of scruff over the course of the weekend. The worst thing, the very worst thing about all of this was that despite its excessive scruffiness, the beard did nothing to hide the carved angle of Merlin’s cheekbones nor the dark-pink plumpness of his lips. Quite the opposite. Rude, it was. Rude, and yet somehow compelling. The unfairness of it all made Arthur quite cross.

 

_~~~Merlin, by tibeyg~~~_

“Oh, ha ha, very funny. It’s Morgana’s latest edict, as well you know.” Merlin shrugged, imbuing the movement with an air of you-tell-me, you’re-the-boss that Arthur found quite frankly unnecessary, if not downright provocative. “You got the email too, right? Sales are going down, we need to be more hipster, grow beards, wear moccasins, wear celtic jewellery, skinny black jeans, yadda yadda.” He went back to applying his tea-towel to the nozzle of Excalibur, Arthur’s expensive new cappuccino machine, with a few vigorous swipes.

“Beards?” Arthur snorted. There was no way that he was going to go down that road! “Jewellery?”

As he spoke, he noticed a pendant that peeped through an unseemly gap in the top of Merlin’s ill-fitting t-shirt. Three whorls spiraled out from the centre like spokes of a wheel. It looked like something that Gwaine would wear, and yet it was not out of place upon Merlin’s throat. For starters, it accentuated the sharp angles of Merlin’s collarbones.

Arthur’s eyes, of their own volition, roamed down Merlin’s body to investigate the blackness and tightness of Merlin’s trousers, smugly confirming both characteristics, together with the hugeness of Merlin’s silver belt buckle, which bore the same motif as his pendant. Abruptly, he tore his gaze away before it could range any further down Merlin’s body and cause Arthur any unnecessary discomfort.

“Seriously?” he said, as much to distract himself as to express his disdain at Morgana’s suggestion. “She’s wrong, of course. There’s no way that just a bit of stubble is going to draw the punters in.”

When he gestured vaguely towards Merlin’s face, which was currently hosting said offending stubble in such a thorough way, he had to fight off a sudden urge to follow through on the movement with a quick touch to see how soft those short curls were, or whether they were wiry and would spring back under his fingers, or lay flat against the skin of Merlin’s cheeks like a caress, and God, this sort of thinking was only going to make things worse. Much worse. They were bad enough, when he couldn’t trust his own eyes. Or, or, or... fingers. He crammed said fingers into his pockets to stop them twitching, and then pulled them hastily out again, fisting them and jamming them onto his hips, casting about for safer thoughts. Because these ones - well, they already beginning to have negative impacts, or positive, depending on your perspective, but right now, not good, on various other rogue parts of Arthur’s anatomy, and that had to stop, because it was more than just undignified. It was--well. It was bad. Very bad.

“It worked for Annis.” Merlin, oblivious to the drama going on in Arthur’s head and underpants, lined up the coffee cups and tucked his tea-towel into the belt of his trousers with a flourish. “Leon has a beard. And a manbun. And Caerleon Cafe is always heaving! And they’ve started stocking cold pressed coffee, and it’s £3.50 a pop, £4 for a large one. And people are still buying it, Arthur!”

“How do you know that Mr Knightly’s cupcakes--?” Arthur frowned. “First name terms as well? You haven’t been frequenting our competitor’s shop, have you?”

“Well, no, I mean, yes, but I -um, that is to say, that Gwaine and I-- well, it was just competitive intel, you know?” said Merlin, tilting his head on one side with a sort of wheedling wince. “Market research? Although I have to say that Leon’s vegan cupcakes were an absolute… I mean, maybe if we started to stock… ”

“Vegan? We are not, I repeat not, ever going to sell that sort of self-righteous, sunflower-seed-based tripe in my coffee shop,” bellowed Arthur, pinching the skin between his eyes, at the top of his nose, to stave off the sudden inexplicable headache that always appeared whenever Merlin spoke about vegan food, and that good-for-nothing, unfairly handsome layabout, Gwaine, in the same breath. Gwaine, who also worked for one of Camelot Coffee’s numerous competitors. Gwaine, who had ridiculous beard and cheekbones and facial hair. Gwaine who sported the sort of reckless grin that, in Arthur’s worst nightmares, not that he would ever admit it out loud, could get even the most loyal barista to switch sides.

“But their gluten-free chick-pea brownies are to die for!” said Merlin, who didn’t know when to leave well alone. His eyes widened into a sort of wistful, faraway, dreamy look that did nothing for Arthur’s peace of mind. “And as for the vegan almond chocolate fudge cake, oh, my God!” He followed up this treachery by licking his lips with a distracting “mmm” sound that echoed deep in Arthur’s groin, and sound effects like that really should not be allowed in a coffee shop, customers or no. “I’m not the only vegan in the town, you know. If you stocked Leon’s cakes you’d get an instant new market!”

“Nope.” Arthur scowled, hastily adjusting his trousers. He grabbed a bunch of menus off the counter, holding them strategically to cover his sudden and inconvenient physiological response to Merlin’s obscene moaning and lip-licking. “No matter how much you nag me, I’m never going to pander to the faddish first-world dietary mores of your arty, hipster friends. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”

“Veganism isn’t a fad!” Merlin, leaning forward to punctuate this statement with a well-aimed poke at Arthur’s chest. “It’s a way of life! You need to move with the times, Arthur.”

“Camelot Coffee has always prided itself on using traditional, local ingredients,” said Arthur, primly.  “Ingredients, I might add, that inculde bacon. And sausages. Not Linda McArtney ones, either. And we’re not going to change now.” Girding himself with as much of an air of authority as he could muster, given the circumstances, he thrust through the staff door into the kitchen, before he did anything stupid, like manhandle Merlin and his ridiculously full lips into the back of the store and kiss him senseless, which was exactly the sort of inter-staff liaison that his father was always warning him against.

As the door slammed shot, the faint cry of “clotpole” was almost on the edge of hearing. But not quite. It was soon obscured by the sound of his phone ringing.

“Arthur!” Morgana’s voice was shrill. Sighing, he held his phone at arm’s length. “It’s an emergency! Crisis meeting, my place, 10am.”

“What is it?” It was always an emergency, with Morgana, but nevertheless his heart started to pound. “Is it Father?” Dread sent cold fingers creeping up his spine. “Morgana? Morgana?”

But she had already ended the call.

*

By the time Arthur returned from the so-called emergency meeting, he was so furious that even the merry tinkling of the coffee-shop door made him want to punch a hole in the glass.

“Oh, thank God you’re back, Ar--.” Merlin’s eyes widened and his cheery greeting died on his lips when Arthur scowled at him. “Um.”

“I’m not to be disturbed,” he replied, shoving open the countertop and rummaging behind it for his laptop. “Stay front of house.”

“Fine, I was just, I’ve been here since 7, Arthur, and I need the loo, would you mind just holding the fort for a sec, while I--”

“I’m not your slave,” Arthur snapped.

“And I’m not yours, either.” Merlin pressed his lips together in a resentful pout. “Which is why I need a break. Clotpole.”

“Just remember who is paying your wages,” growled Arthur, but he shoved the key into the till to indicate a changeover had occurred anyway.  “I’ll hang on here for five minutes but then I have important, um, paperwork to catch up on.”

“Fine.” Merlin swiped his phone off the counter and into his pocket.

“Oh, no you don’t!” said Arthur, frowning. “Leave your phone here. It’s a loo break, not an excuse to catch up on cat videos. And might I remind you of the hygiene regulations?”

“Fine.” Merlin slapped his phone down onto the counter, and flashed Arthur a glare before heading off into the back.

Still seething, Arthur pointedly refused to watch him go.

The coffee shop was practically empty, anyway. The woman with the laptop had gone. One of their vanishing number of regulars still sat with his feet on the cushion in the window seat, with a fresh cup of coffee steaming away in front of him. The only newcomers were couple of emo students occupied the table by the wall cooing at each other. Each of them was nursing a glass of water. Arthur stepped out from behind the counter, intending to boot them out unless they actually paid for something, but stopped by the front door when something caught his eye.

It was an elderly woman, struggling up the steps with a large wheeled shopping bag in her wake. She was carrying a mangy-looking terrier that looked like it was about to deposit fleas all over the upholstery. She pushed at the front door. The tinkling bell sounded an alarm in his head.

“I’m sorry madam,” he said, changing stride to block her passage, Dear God, the dog stank. “No dogs are permitted in this cafe.”

“What, dear?” She gaped at him. “Can I just use your loo?”

“Nope.” Abruptly, he turned her shoulders and shoved her, still protesting, down the steps. “It’s occupied. Strictly staff and customers only.”

He slammed the door, breathing heavily, and was about to resume his original mission to oust the non-paying students when he glanced up towards the staff door, catching the eye of the returning Merlin. The surprise and disappointment on Merlin’s face made a tiny part of him inexplicably sad, but his Morgana-induced fury squashed it.

“Arthur?” said Merlin, frowning. "Did you just turn away another custo--"

But after the bollocking that Morgana had just given him, Arthur was in no mood for another.

“Shut up, Merlin,” he said instead, pushing past. He fled through the staff door into the office, shutting it behind him with a bang that ricocheted through the building, setting off an echo from the coffee shop door.

Oh God, he’d just manhandled a customer, and shoved an employee, and it was all Morgana’s fault. He wasn’t cut out for this whole being nice to customers and staff business. What was father thinking, putting him in front of house like this? Mind you, Morgana would have been ten times worse, but she was driving him mad with her interfering and her nagging and her resentment.

He sat for a good hour with his head in his hands, staring at the RateMyCoffeeDotCom review that Morgana had called him in for. 

The review went into great detail about Camelot Coffee’s mediocre food, tired decor and uninspiring list of coffees. But what had particularly annoyed Arthur was the way that it spouted on about some staff member with a surly, arrogant, dismissive attitude. Said staff member supposedly sneered at the customers, bullied the staff, and turned away anyone that they didn’t like the look of. What was worse, a number of people had clearly hit the "like" button. It was the top rated review of Camelot Coffee on the site. 

Who could that possibly be? Well, it couldn’t be Merlin, that was for sure. Merlin spilt things, and made off-colour jokes, and mixed up people's orders. But he was not renowned for turning away customers - even smelly ones, or ones who didn’t pay for anything. And as for Gwen, well, no-one who had felt the full impact of those dimples could ever accuse Gwen of being surly. No, there was only one staff member who fitted the profile of the customer’s complaint, and both Arthur and Morgana knew who that one staff member was. Hence the bollocking.

It was extremely irritating, and the humiliating, Morgana-induced rage that still burned in his belly made him feel like searching through all the people in the town before he found the upstart who dared to criticise him, and then beating him to a pulp. But the small part of him,  the bit which felt sad when Merlin glared at him, and which spoke, come to think of it, in a remarkably Merlin-like voice, was growing more insistent.

It was all his fault, said the voice. Camelot Coffee’s woes were all his fault. He was old-fashioned, and boring. His food was old-fashioned and boring. His attitude was divisive and boring. His clothes were unoriginal. The shop deserved better. The staff deserved better. He would have to resign, and hope that the resulting explosion would not have a negative impact on Uther’s already dodgy heart.

And now the coffee shop that his father had spent years investing in, the one that his mother had loved, was dying on its feet. Little wonder that Morgana was considering selling up. By all accounts, the offer that she’d received from Dragonbucks coffee was quite tempting. But it was horrible to think of his mother’s beloved cafe being taken over by a bland, corporate entity like Dragonbucks. Besides which, his father knew Dragonbucks's CEO. It would be a real kick in the teeth for Uther if Dragonbucks took over.

He was still mentally drafting his letter of resignation when a polite cough from the door startled him. Surprised, he took his head out of his hands for a moment.

“Merlin?” he said, blearily.

“Still doing the accounts?”

“Shouldn’t you be minding the shop?”

“Gwen’s here.” Merlin slipped into the office, perching on the desk next to Arthur with a sympathetic grin. “Rough meeting?”

“Yeah.” Arthur rubbed his face. “I’m making a real hash of things, aren’t I?”

“Well.” Merlin tilted his head on one side and arched an eyebrow.  “Um. Semi-hash, maybe. Sort of part corned-beef, part mashed potato and a large dollop of potential for being a hell of a lot better.”

This was (another) one of the (many) things that Arthur was beginning to ~~love~~ like about Merlin. He didn’t duck the question. Other people, met with the full force of the Pendragon steamroller, as other rugby team members had called him at school, would back away and just agree with anything that Arthur said. But not Merlin. He didn’t jump in with both feet and gleefully criticise like Morgana. But he didn’t back down either.

Arthur huffed out a tired laugh. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“It’s all right.” Merlin smiled. “You’re trying so hard. Look, you’re very organised. You’re great at negotiating with suppliers. Maybe you just need to relax a little about front of house. Let Gwen and me handle the customers. Trust us a little more. Delegate the things you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Like handling little old ladies with smelly dogs?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. His smile widened. “Just like that."

Arthur felt a ghost of a smile touch his own lips, and the heavy weight pressing on his chest shifted minutely.

 

_~~~Arthur, by tibeyg~~~_

 

"It'll be fine, you'll see!" Merlin went on. "We won't let bastards like that one embittered reviewer ruin things for us, right?"

"You knew about that?" 

"Course I did." Merlin shrugged. "But I'm still here, aren't I? Plus...” his lips quirked up into a cocky grin that heralded the imminence of cheek. “I reckon she’ll be back. That old woman.”

“Oh yeah?” said Arthur, pitching his voice at a fake growl to show that he knew that cheek was coming, and he was ready for it.

“Yeah.” Merlin licked his lips. “I saw the way she looked at your bum. I reckon you’re just her type!" 

"Merlin!" Arthur pulled a face that he thought eloquently described what he thought of this idea.

"Yeah," nodded Merlin, grin widening, because he didn't know when to leave well alone, and evidently poking angry bears was a favourite pastime of his. "I reckon you’re _in,_ there!”

Merlin bent double, choking with laughter at his own extremely unfunny joke, only coming up ever few seconds to gasp in a bit of air while he pointed at Arthur and wheezed out the occasional "in there, Arthur" and "your face, honestly, oh my God!" Arthur could only gaze on, nonplussed, while Merlin's shoulders shook and his face disappeared into a miasma of dishevelled hair and laughter lines. And really, this sort of teasing, which Arthur had to suffer daily, had no business being either attractive or charming, but somehow the letter of resignation upon Arthur's desk entered the bin shortly thereafter, and there it stayed. 

Let the bastard reviewers come. Arthur was ready for them, with Merlin by his side.


	2. Ne'Meth Wellness Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: LOOK AT THE GORGEOUS ART BY tibeyg!!!!!!!!! SHE'S SO PRETTYYYYYY!! *CUE HIGH PITCHED SQUEALING*

It turned out that market research was actually exactly the sort of thing that Morgana was after. Which was why, after much protest, Arthur found himself, on his day off, sitting gloomily opposite Merlin in the achingly hip _Ne’Meth Wellness Bar_ , washing down a goji-berry and chia-seed vegan nutjack with a cold-pressed decaff Nicaraguan double-roasted liberacino (five percent of all sales to Nicaraguan charities).

“Tastes like cardboard.” He made an ostentatious attempt to chew the nutjack, casting surreptitious glances around the room to check that no-one recognised him. “Where’s the bacon? Where’s the lard?”

Merlin, damn him, grinned. His beard had thickened over the last few days and all the now-long hairs echoed the movements of his mouth and cheeks most arrestingly, some of them clumping in dimples that came and went at random. And as for lips… if Arthur had found it difficult to avoid looking at Merlin’s lips before, it was bloody impossible now that they were surrounded by a thick coating of fur that followed every movement of Merlin’s mouth like some sort of beardy marching band, parading around with cheerleaders singing “look at me!”, and yes that was a stupid analogy, but it didn’t alter the fact that the damn beard emphasized those flushed-pink lips. It was worse than lipstick. And how was it that the more scruffy Merlin got, the more indecently alluring he became?

“You’re just jealous because Gwaine’s beard is thicker than yours,” said Merlin, dipping his head in the direction of said annoyingly handsome Irish waiter. “And he’s got all that swishy hair.”

Arthur grimaced. He didn’t want to be reminded of Gwaine at this moment. While Gwaine undoubtedly had some finer qualities, it was difficult to remember what they were when Merlin spoke of him, and his shiny locks, so admiringly. Besides which, the subject of their conversation was grinning inanely at them from his position behind the counter. And Arthur couldn’t help noticing that he was indeed wearing a pendant that was identical to the swirly spiral pattern that adorned Merlin’s collarbones. Which meant that Arthur had to fight off all manner of additional temptations involving goji-berry cakes colliding messily with swishy manes in a satisfactorily sticky and humiliating clump of hairy berryness.  

At that moment, the proprietress, Mithian, started bustling towards them with a purposeful air. Arthur pulled his baseball cap down over his face and buried his nose in his coffee, watching her from over the rim of his cup, hoping his shades would complete the disguise and the cup would hide his two-week-old stubble.

 

_~~Mithian, by tibeyg~~_

 

And that was another thing. Despite Arthur’s best attempts, his beard still scraggled patchily around his chin, and had annoyingly ginger bits, whereas Merlin’s was dense and lush. He reached up to scratch at an itchy bit on his cheek and then realising what he was doing, lowered his hand. He wasn’t going to give in to the damn thing. Not without a fight.

“Merlin, darling, it’s been aaages!” Mithian bent to press her lips to Merlin’s hair. When Arthur found himself wondering how soft Merlin’s hair would feel against his own lips, which wouldn’t do at all, he swallowed and frowned at his phone instead.

“Hi Mith!” Merlin, oblivious of Arthur’s discomfort, performed some sort of complex flailing manoeuvre that ended up with his arms around Mithian’s neck and his stupid hippy pendant dangling against his collarbones. “How’s business?”

Arthur looked up again to join in the greeting, but then clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to reveal his identity. Doing market research in a rival cafe felt dishonest enough already. Getting caught would feel like industrial espionage gone wrong.

“Business is good, thanks, darling.” With quick, deft movements, Mithian stacked Merlin’s empty Ayurveda Wellness teacup and saucer onto his empty bowl, placing the whole lot onto a tray. “Although with the scandalous hike in business rates being charged by the local council, it’s difficult to make the numbers add up. Thank you Tories!”

Arthur was about to say “tell me about it it,” but stopped himself just in time and let out a sympathetic grunt instead.

“We’ve had a ridiculous offer from Dragonbucks,” she added, “but I’m damned if I’ll let that bastard Vortigern take over my shop with his bland coffee and his exploitative business practices. Even if he did know my father.”

Arthur grunted again. So his wasn’t the only business that Dragonbucks was courting.

“Here, here,” Merlin went on, enthusiasm radiating from his eyes. “I’m loving the new cinnamon quinoa breakfast bowls, Any chance of the recipe?”

“Cheeky!” Mithian laughed, wiping the table with an expert swirl of her cloth. She tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “That’s intellectual property! Think of your own recipe to attract the health-conscious of the town!” She nodded at Arthur. “Who’s your celebrity friend? Hiding from the paps, are we?

“It’s only Arthur, my boss, in what he thinks is disguise” said Merlin, unconcerned that he was blowing Arthur’s carefully constructed cover. “He thinks it’s against the law to have a cup of coffee at your shop, no idea why!”

“Merlin!” hissed Arthur. He glared. The effect was somewhat lost from behind his Aviators, but it was the principle that mattered.

“Hi Arthur.” Mithian laughed. “I thought there was something familiar about those indignant-looking shoulders! Have you finished your nutjack yet?”

“You know each other?” Merlin looked from one to the other with what seemed like an unhealthy amount of curiosity.

“Yeah, we were at school together,” Mithian replied. “Arthur was the men’s rugby captain, I was the women’s. Funnily enough, our dads once thought we should get together. Until I told my Dad that Morgana was more my type, that is.” She laughed.

Arthur swallowed. He still hadn’t told his own father that Merlin was more his type than Mithian.

“I should have guessed it was you.” Mithian flashed him another smile. “No-one else would be wearing sunglasses inside, on a grey December morning.”

“I get migraines!” protested Arthur, unwinding his scarf with a sigh. He pulled off his baseball cap and pushed his shades up onto his hair, not mentioning that said migraines tended to manifest whenever his latest and most annoyingly cute employee, not that he’d ever admit that Merlin was cute, not to his face anyway, mentioned certain trigger words, words like _Gwaine_ , and had nothing to do with sunlight at all. “Besides which, Morgana told me to wear them.”

“Really? That’s not what I thought she said at all!” Merlin smirked so that his eyes danced and spidery crinkles of mischief appeared at their corners. “I thought that she said you had to be more hipster? Like Leon, is what she said.”

Merlin’s lips really were very pink, the contrast with the richly dark hairs around his mouth was most arresting.

“Oh, Arthur.” Mithian giggled behind her hand. “Only you could possibly interpret Aviators and  Abercrombie and Fitch as hipster!”

“Oh, ha ha!” retorted Arthur, intelligently, because it was difficult to think of a witty response when Merlin was being so distractingly… Merlinish.

He remembered from somewhere that the curse in Harry Potter books was always “Merlin’s Beard!”. Sometimes, when Merlin spoke, for example, or opened his mouth, or pressed his lips together, or pushed them out into a great pout, or smiled, as he was doing now, or grimaced, or… anyway, not very often, obviously, but just sometimes, Arthur was beginning to understand why.

“How are your nuts?” said Mithian.

“Mm?” Startled, Arthur tore his gaze away from Merlin’s lips. “What did you say?”

“Your nutjack!” Mithian nodded at the half-eaten seedy thing that had now disintegrated all over Arthur’s plate.

“Oh!”

It had tasted like the bottom of a bird feeder, and Arthur was about to tell Mithian so, but then he caught Merlin’s eye. Merlin, whose admiration of all things hipster and vegan and health-food-fad-ish knew no bounds. There was an unguarded expression of such hope and admiration on Merlin’s face that Arthur couldn’t bring himself to be surly. He found himself suddenly and inexplicably wanting to keep that expression there forever. So he clamped his open mouth shut, pursing his lips and scrunching up his nose in a moment of careful consideration, before lying as convincingly as he could.

“Lovely, thanks,” he said. He took another bite. “Really, you know. Um. Seedy. Healthy.” he added through a mouthful of dry, unpalatable seeds, desperately trying to chew the damn thing, which was so sweet that it made his teeth hurt and sent involuntary shudders jolting down his spine.

The admiration on Merlin’s face intensified to an almost painful, shining delight that was more than a grown man should be expected to bear. So, in fairness, the drama that followed really wasn’t Arthur’s fault.

 

 

*

Merlin was not perfect, Arthur would be the first to admit that. He was clumsy, he challenged Arthur’s authority about absolutely everything, and his mode of dress was slapdash in the extreme.

And yet. And yet! The customers loved him. He chatted and charmed and bustled around them, and even when he all-too-frequently got their orders wrong, he managed to charm them into thinking that it was what they’d ordered in the first place. It was almost magical how they always left the cafe smiling. Business had picked up recently. Although Arthur was not yet ready to ascribe this change in fortune to Morgana’s edicts, credit where credit was due. Their new line of Leon Knightly’s _locally sourced vegan brownies_ had been an instant hit. And the negative reviews on RateMyCoffeeDotCom had dried up of late.

So, yes, Merlin was showing his value as an employee in more ways than one. Quite apart from his success in the business arena, there was the other week’s nutjack debacle at _Ne’Meth Wellness Bar_.

Arthur shuddered when he thought about it. Mithian should know better than to stock such an obvious choking hazard in her shop. What if he’d been a child? He could have died! And Arthur wasn’t being melodramatic, no matter what Morgana said. Merlin had saved his life with that timely Heimlich manoeuvre, there was no doubt about that.

Mithian should be bloody grateful to Merlin too, because it was Merlin that talked Arthur out of sueing her. Or rather, he didn’t talk Arthur out of it, he just gave Arthur that soft-eyed look, the one that said that Arthur would never do something that churlish to a fellow coffee-shop owner, would he? And Arthur, for all his power and presence and charisma, Arthur the steamroller, the orator who had shredded the opposition in public speaking competitions at University with withering put-downs that were spoken of in hushed tones at the Cambridge Union for years afterwards, well. That Arthur, the very same one, was powerless against that look.

No, Merlin was definitely not perfect, but there was something about him. Something irresistible. Take his appearance, for example. His face was a bit too long, and his adam’s apple just that bit too sharp. His ears stuck out and his hair was a messy, black thatch that curled higgledy-piggledy over the curves of his neck and throat, and stuck out in silly places around his cheekbones and the scruff of his cheek stubble. His lips. His _lips._ With that deeply etched notch on the lower lip. That notch was obscene, that was the only word for it. And as for said stubble, well. his beard grew more and more ridiculous every day.

And yet. And yet! Somehow the slapdash parts had been assembled to make a harmonious whole that kept drawing Arthur’s gaze to Merlin’s face without him thinking, until Arthur caught himself, and tugged his eyes away, at which point they would fall somewhere equally dangerous, like Merlin’s skinny frame, or those long slender hands. Those hands, with their fine fingers and neatly trimmed nails, and their skill at wielding the coffee machine. Their nimbleness at dealing with knots in aprons, and the brand new ice-crushing machine that he’d persuaded Arthur to buy.

Arthur’s eyes flicked over this vision now. Merlin was serving tea to one of their regulars, the one that kept insisting upon putting his feet on the window seat.

“There you go, Mordred.” Merlin leaned forward across the table, so that his jeans, which already sat ridiculously low on Merlin’s non-existent hips, kept sliding down and hitching on some hidden part of Merlin’s anatomy, God, Arthur shouldn’t be thinking about that, not now! But a sliver of pale skin peeped fascinatingly over the top of that wide black belt, and it took all his strength to arrest the hum of approval that rose in his throat, and turn it into a cough, instead.

“Are you all right?” said Merlin, straightening and turning towards him. Concern clouded his expression. He scurried over, darting behind the counter to thump Arthur hard on the back. “We don’t want a repeat of the nutjack incident, now, do we?”  

“I’m fine,” Arthur wheezed, wiping away his tears. “Frog in my throat, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin’s hand was warm on Arthur’s back, where it hovered, as if ready to have another go, and his face was uncomfortably near the back of Arthur’s neck. So close that he could feel Merlin’s breath gusting against his skin, raising goose bumps. “Because, much though I loved grabbing you round the waist, we don’t want to make a habit of nearly choking to death, now, do we?”

Merlin loved grabbing him round the waist? Arthur really didn’t know how to react to this revelation, so he coughed a little harder instead, in a not transparent at all attempt to keep Merlin’s long, soothing fingers where they were, describing delicious circles on the sore muscles of Arthur’s back with little skill but much impact.

“I can assure you,” Arthur said at last, breathing hard, “my goji-berry days are well and truly over. I swear it on Excalibur’s life.”

“You and that coffee machine,” said Merlin, drawing away. “Anyway. I’d better get back to the grind! I need to grind some more of the mocha blend. Grind, geddit?”

“Oh, wow, great pun, Merlin!” Arthur said with mock enthusiasm.

“Oh thanks!” Merlin’s eyes sparkled for a moment, but then his face fell. “Oh. Wait. You’re joking.”

“Well, duh.” Arthur smiled, warmth seeping through him. “Your wit astounds me sometimes.”

“Your ability to damn with faint praise astonishes _me_.” Merlin huffed out a laugh through his nose and laughter lines wrinkled up around his eyes, sending them into little delighted half-moons, and  Arthur lost his train of thought for a moment.

Feeling curious eyes trained on him, Arthur looked around. That regular customer, the one Merlin had been serving, was staring at him, with an intent expression that Arthur could not fathom. And what was more, his feet were still on the window-seat cushions! Again! Scowling, Arthur went over to tell him to put his damned feet down.

Again.

Which he did, begrudgingly at first, and then with a flash of an insincere smile that didn’t fool Arthur one second.

Bloody customers. Running a coffee shop would be a hell of a lot easier without them. And there was something about this particular customer that gave Arthur the heebie jeebies.


	3. Gawant Sports Cafe and Juice Bar

Idly, Arthur wondered if he could chalk up this ongoing market research campaign against expenses.

Of all the coffee shops in Albion Town, apart from Camelot Coffee, of course, Arthur liked _Gawant Sports Cafe and Juice Bar_ the best. Elena sold the sort of trendy beefburgers that cost more than an actual steak but were succulent and satisfying enough to justify the price tag. And the wall to wall TV screens served displays of physical contests that were occasionally interesting enough to wrench Arthur’s eyes away from his increasingly burning obsession, at least for a moment or two. So, yes, definitely worth another visit, but pricey with it.

Merlin, however, did not agree.

“Do we have to visit this place again?” whined Merlin, poking sadly at his mushroom burger and taking a sip of his carrot juice. “I’m bored of having to ask for mushroom burgers without the mayo. Can’t we go back to Ne’Meth instead?”

“Shut up Merlin. Or I’ll make you go back to _Mercia Biker Bar_.”

"No!" Merlin shuddered. "Anything but that! Who was the scary blonde one?"

"Morgause. She's Morgana's second cousin."

Grinning wanly, Arthur took a few glugs of his pint.

"She terrified me!" With a grimace, Merlin stirred his carrot juice with his straw, lifting it out and licking from the end. A tiny, orangey river trickled onto the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out to swirl it away. "I reckon she would actually like to eat my liver for breakfast!" 

To prevent himself from articulating which part of Merlin's anatomy he would like to have for breakfast, Arthur grabbed one of Merlin’s sweet-potato fries and shoved it whole into his own mouth instead. “Mmm, delicious!”

“Oi!“ Merlin protested as he grabbed ineffectually at Arthur’s hand, just a little too late. “That’s mine, clotpole!”

“What are you going to do?” Arthur licked his lips as he chewed. “Ask for it back?”

“What?” Merlin’s eyes widened, and a flush darkened his cheeks, rushing up his face. He swallowed, throat working. “No!” He lowered his lashes and wrapped his lips around his straw, sucking so that his scruff-covered cheeks hollowed.

“Erm... Ahem. Anyway.” Arthur wrenched his gaze away to rest somewhere safer, alighting gratefully on the screen where Serena Williams was dispatching some unlucky Croatian woman in efficient, rapid strokes. “Yeah, we do. Have to come here, I mean. As you know, Elena and I need to chat, and she’s too busy to come to Camelot Coffee, so I said we would meet her here.” Plus there were TV screens that interrupted his painful contemplation of Merlin’s many fascinating features, he added silently.

“Oh, hi Mordred!” Merlin, who clearly wasn’t listening, waved cheerily at a passing fellow customer, who did look a little familiar, come to think of it.

When Merlin smiled like that, his eyes retreated into the folds of his eyelids and his dimples punched dark, beard-filled holes in his cheeks and his lips stretched wide over even teeth, and the way that Merlin waved merely emphasized the long, clever-looking fingers on both hands, and dear God! Arthur didn’t know how much more he could take of this. Thank heavens for Serena.

“Hi Merlin.” The other customer waved back and sauntered over to another table, where he drew up two chairs, putting his feet up on one of them.

Him again! Now Arthur remembered exactly where he knew him from. It was that creepy customer who kept sitting with his feet on the cushions. He  seemed to be everywhere, these days. Making a mental note to find a way to bar the little twerp from his cafe for life, Arthur gazed back up at the television screen, which offered him a vision of Serena belting in a blinding serve that left the other woman standing. What an athlete, Arthur thought. What a champion.

“Honestly, your attention span is like a goldfish.” Merlin snapped his fingers in front of Arthur’s nose. Most unfairly. After all, it was his fault that Arthur needed distraction in the first place. “Wakey wakey! Elena’s here!”

Sure enough, Elena was bounding towards them, pencil behind her ear. She stumbled against a chair, righted it, waltzed around a departing customer, tripped over her feet and landed inelegantly on Merlin’s lap.

“Oops!” she said.

As Merlin caught her, his forearms flexed. Arthur studiously did not watch the play of muscles beneath Merlin’s skin. Nor did he notice how Merlin’s fingers tensed minutely around Elena’s waist. And his jaw did not clench against a sudden surge of cold jealousy that flashed through him. Not at all.

“Well, hello, pretty!” Merlin, damn him, lowered his voice to a seductive purr that went straight to Arthur’s groin, and raised his eyebrows in a semi-comic, semi-suggestive waggle. “We must stop meeting like this!”

“Sorry!” With a huge and disarming grin, Elena stood up again, brushing her hands self-consciously down her apron, before lowering herself gently onto the third chair at their round table. “Didn’t mean to squish you. Tripped over my own feet, haha, what a numpty. How are your sweet potatoes?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Merlin, loftily. “Arthur stole them all.”

“I had _one fry_!” 

“You two.” Elena laughed. “You’re like Laurel and Hardy. Only, you know, cuter.”

“I am not cute.” Arthur scowled, before hastily adding, “and neither is Merlin!”

“I’m sitting right here!” Merlin nudged Arthur with an unneccessarily sharp elbow.

“Ow! Anyway." Arthur nudged him back. “We aren’t here for you two to flirt! Can we get down to business?”

“Oooh, someone got out of bed on the wrong side today,” said Merlin, as if Arthur’s tetchiness wasn’t all his damn fault in the first place with his damn flirting and his damn lips and his damn cheekbones. Dammit.

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur gave him a playful shove.

“Shut up, yourself, clotpoll!” Merlin shoved back.

Elena coughed politely. “Ahem. Arthur? Merlin? RateMyCoffeeDotCom trolls?”

“Of course. Sorry,” said Arthur.  

But Merlin actually winked at him, and this time it was Arthur’s turn to blush. He was powerless to stop the heat that crept up his cheeks. He took a sip of his coke to hide his confusion, but from the way that Merlin was still smiling at him, eyes all scrunched up and sly, he hadn’t been entirely successful. He gave himself a little shake. Get a grip, Arthur!

“Did you bring your laptop?” prompted Elena. “You said you thought you’d found something?”

“Right. Yeah.” Breathing heavily, he had no idea why, Arthur reached into his briefcase, as much to focus his attention away from the whole Merlinness of everything as anything else, and extracted his laptop, booting it up.

Like Camelot Cafe, Elena’s sports bar had recently been suffering from a plague of unearned, bad anonymous reviews, similar to Arthur’s. And they’d been getting worse; accusing both establishments of poor hygiene and undercooked meat, as well as complaining about the service and the attitude of the staff. There was something about the complainant’s tone on Elena’s RateMyCoffeeDotCom page that had seemed familiar, and he had spent some time digging a little further.

“So.” Arthur fiddled with the laptop, navigating to a RateMyCoffeeDotCom page. “Looks like you and I have got the same problem.” He rotated the machine until the screen faced them both. “It a bit of detective work for me to figure it out, but all those months interning in the IT department at my Dad’s software company finally paid off. Looks like your troll and mine are one and the same person.” He tapped at the screen with a propelling pencil. “Note my troll’s IP address.” Jotting the series of numbers down on a note pad that he’d extracted from his briefcase, he then navigated to another screen on his laptop. “Now, this is the IP address for your troll.”

Elena peered shortsightedly at it, leaning forward in her chair.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Different name, the same guy.”

“Yes.” Arthur stared at her. “Now, the question is, who? And, I suppose, why? Do you have any ideas?”

“No!” Elena started shaking her head. “What sort of a person would say such lies? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Merlin?” said Arthur.

Merlin, who was staring at the laptop screen with an intent air, held up a hand as if to say that he was concentrating and should not be disturbed. He did something complicated with the mouse, typing so fast that his fingers were a blur.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but kept quiet. Sometimes, well, if he was going to be honest, most of the time, Merlin was pretty intelligent, despite that scruffy-hippy facade and the pouty, kissable lips that Arthur definitely didn’t spend his days and nights thinking about, dear me, no, and, oh dear, time to watch some more tennis.

After a few minutes, in which Serena shredded the Croatian’s service game and no doubt her remaining self esteem, Merlin raised a finger.

“I think I’ve got an idea,” he said.

“I thought I could hear the cogs whirring,” said Arthur, more out of habit than anything else. “Hope you haven’t damaged anything!”

“Shh, Arthur!” Elena frowned at him. “Go on, Merlin.”

“There are five coffee shops in Albion,” said Merlin. “Two we know have suffered from a hike in business rates, and coincidentally had offers from Dragonbucks Coffee to take over the shop…. And all five have experienced negative reviews in the past month… from the same IP address in each case.”

“That’s odd,” said Elena, the puzzled line deepening between her brows. “How did you know about that?”

“Know about what?” said Arthur.

“The offer I’ve had from Dragonbucks.”

“We didn’t.” Merlin licked his lips. “I was referring to Ne’Meth and Camelot! Well, well, well. Looks like we can increase that total to three…”

“Oh, my God!” breathed Arthur, catching on. “Maybe there are more! We haven’t been to Caerleon Cafe yet! I have to go and talk to Annis, at once!” He pushed his chair back, slamming closed the laptop.  

“Yes,” said Merlin, his face sombre for once. “This is not just malicious trolling for the sake of it. No, I think this is something else.”

“Industrial espionage,” said Arthur and Elena at the same time.


	4. The Rising Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of angst and hurt/comfort. See end of chapter for (spoilerish) chapter warnings.

“What would you do, Merlin?” Arthur asked, one evening when he was just about to lock up. “About the reviewers, I mean?”

“You really want my opinion?” Merlin’s mop paused in its ministrations and his eyebrow quirked as he glanced over at Arthur. “Me? After this morning, when you said I was, and I quote, a _bumbling imbecile with an attitude problem and no concept of personal boundaries_.”

“All of which is true,” said Arthur, cursing Merlin’s accurate memory. But after all, it had been Merlin’s fault that Arthur had dropped that expensive coffee cup. If Merlin hadn’t stood there looking all delicious, making those obscene little moans and hums and groans, oh, God, those deep, appreciative groans over the new non-dairy moccha latte he had been sampling, well, the cup would still be alive and, if not kicking, then certainly stacked up in the appropriate place ready for the weekend.

“ _You_ dropped the cup,” said Merlin, indignantly. “You’re the clumsy one. How come I get the blame?”

“Stop changing the subject,” said Arthur, in a desperate attempt to retain a shred of dignity by not answering the question.

They were interrupted by a loud jangling that made Arthur jump. An elderly woman stood on the threshold. Her face was panicked, and her hand shook as she reached for the handle. Arthur opened his mouth to tell her that they were just about to close, but there was something about the colour of her lips that made him pause and rush over to help her into the shop instead.

“Are you all right?” he said, sending his arm snaking around her as she seemed to teeter on the edge of falling.

“I feel a bit funny, dear,” she said faintly. “I’m terribly sorry dear, do you mind if I lean on you for a second? Is this the doctor’s surgery? Are you the doctor?” There was a bluish tinge to her lips that Arthur knew meant trouble.

“Come on, love,” said Arthur, looking up at Merlin for help. “I’m not a doctor, but let’s get you comfortable, shall we, and we’ll find someone. Merlin?”

Merlin did not need telling for once. He grabbed a chair, pulling it over to therm.

“What’s your name, love?” Arthur steered her, lowering her carefully into it. He felt for her pulse - it jumped erratically, fast and faint, beneath his fingers. Erratic. His own pulse jumped in sympathy, speeding up and making his legs tremble. “I’m Arthur. My friend here will get you some water, and we’ll call for someone who can help you.”

God. Blue lips. It had to be her heart. And he had no idea what to do. He darted a worried look over towards Merlin, who was already speaking into the phone.

“What should I do now?” Arthur mouthed silently, opening his eyes wide to communicate urgency. His heart pounded. God. The poor woman, she looked terrified. Her eyes flickered and her lips darkened to a scary shade of bluish-pink.

“Talk! Be nice!” Merlin mouthed back. He backed off, taking the phone with him. Through the door, Arthur distantly registered him saying “Hello. Ambulance, please.”

“It’s all right,” said Arthur, as reassuringly as he could when his hands were sweating and his breath stuttered. “We’re going to get you a doctor. What did you say your name was?”

“Alice!” Her voice was faint. She looked at him pleadingly. “Am I going to be all right?”

“You’ll be fine, Alice!” he said, hoping that she did not hear the minute quiver in his voice. It all reminded him spookily of the night when he had found his mother - so many years ago now. Even down to the slightly pleading expression in her eyes and the terror that she would slip away in his arms.

“Such a handsome boy,” she said, faintly. “You remind me of my son. Is that your boyfriend, dear? Lovely eyes.”

“Erm.” Arthur coughed, to duck the question. “Your hands are ever so cold. Let me get you something to keep you warm.”

There was a basket of blankets that they kept near the door, in case anyone wanted to sit outside in cooler weather. Arthur pulled one of them out and draped it carefully over her, murmuring platitudes all the while, although platitudes never had been a strength of his.

“There you go,” he said, desperately trying to keep the rising terror out of his voice. _Be nice,_ Merlin had said. What did that mean exactly? Every platitude in his entire head fled, leaving him empty of thought. He cast about for something.

“Erm.” He said. Smooth, Arthur. Smooth. Come on, get a grip. “So. Alice. Are you… are you a football fan, Alice? Were you watching the game earlier? Dele Alli was lucky to get that one in, I thought. And as for Kane’s penalty, we were robbed. I’m an Arsenal fan, you see.”

He winced. Football was probably not top of the list of conversations to have with an elderly woman who was having a heart attack, but Merlin was otherwise occupied, and right now, Arthur couldn’t think about anything much else. Which was probably Merlin’s fault.

But it turned out that football wasn’t such a bad choice of topics after all. Although…

“I support Spurs!” she said, with a watery smile, her breath shallow and harsh. “Love that Harry Kane. Such a nice boy.” She breathed for a moment or two, closing her eyes.

“Alice? Alice?” Arthur took her hand, giving it an ineffectual squeeze, hoping he wouldn’t have to administer CPR. “Merlin? Where are you? Alice, are you all right? Merlin?”  

“What, dear?” Alice’s eyes flew open. “It hurts.”  One hand fluttered over her chest and neck.

“It’s all right, Alice, the ambulance will be here soon. Just try to breathe, okay?” Dear God, she could pass away any minute now.

“Tell me more about that nice Harry Kane?” she added, between gasping breaths.

“Erm. Okay. Don’t try to talk.” Arthur touched the back of her hand with his palm, and patted it to disguise the tremors that shook him. “Erm, I. Well. It’s great that so many great players are coming out of the Spurs Academy.”

He swallowed his pride and talked on, praising Arsenal’s great rivals as much as he could, while they waited for the ambulance, keeping his voice low and soothing. By the time that Merlin reappeared with a glass of water, the ambulance was only a minute or two away.

She left with an oxygen mask fastened reassuringly around her face but her skin was so pale, her eyes sunken, cheeks hollowed with pain. She reminded him so much of how his mother had looked, at the end, that it made his throat hurt. He sank onto a chair, and stared blankly at the wall until Merlin’s hand landed warm upon his shoulder.

“Come on.” Merlin’s voice was gentle, as if Arthur were the one who was sick. “You look all in. Want me to walk you home?”

Home? Arthur pictured his empty, tidy flat, loud in its silence, and shuddered inwardly. It felt like no kind of a sanctuary, not when every time he closed his eyes he could see his own mother’s lips, blue and cold, her skin, dry as paper and pale, so pale.

“No,” he croaked. “No, I’m okay.” He swallowed, but the lump in his throat stayed where it was. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. I mean. No, I, well. Um. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to the pub. I’ll buy you a drink.”  

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Arthur smiled wanly. “Can you think of a better one?”

 

*

 

“I asked for your opinion, earlier.” Arthur stared into his malt whiskey, rotating it so that the ice tinkled against the edge. “Before poor Alice… God. I hope she’ll be all right.” The shock had worn off, and he was left with a deep melancholy. Buried memories of his mother’s illness were resurfacing, sucking away Arthur’s equilibrium and leaving him feeling hollow and unsettled.

“We’ve been over this. You did what you could.” Merlin placed a warm hand upon Arthur’s restless forearm. “You were amazing, keeping her talking like that. She really liked you. You were fantastic with her. The paramedics said so.”

Merlin was doing his best to be reassuring, but nevertheless, after all the drama, Arthur felt off kilter, unsteady, even after he’d had a few sips of whiskey. He met Merlin’s steady gaze, looking for sarcasm, but reading only admiration and a hint of something else, there.

“Do you really mean that?”

Normally their exchanges were laden with banter and insults disguised as compliments, or was that the other way round? But after what they’d both experienced that evening, he needed something else, something more, something real.

Merlin bit his lip, tilting his head but not lowering his eyes.

“Of course I do,” he whispered, so quiet that Arthur could barely hear him above the hub-bub.

“It’s just.” Arthur swallowed, moving a little closer to hear Merlin better. “It reminded me, that’s all. Of what happened to my… my mother. And I’m worried about my dad, you know, his ticker is not so good any more. And I wasn’t sure--”

“You were fantastic.” Merlin’s fingers curled around Arthur’s wrist and his eyes widened, shining bright with sincerity. “And, God, Arthur. What happened to your mum?”

“She had a heart attack. Terribly young, they all said. It didn’t really help.” Arthur huffed out a mirthless laugh through his nose. “I found her, but there was nothing I could do. I was only eight. I joined St John’s Ambulance after that, but I could never get the hang of CPR. It was too late for her, you see. And I used to panic.”

“I’m so sorry.” Merlin’s lips pressed together into a distressed line. “It must have been so hard for you. I didn’t know. You did so well, today. I am so proud of you, Arthur.”  

All around them the drone of conversation, the heavy thud-thud of the music from the juke box, mingled with occasional raucous laughter and the tinkle of glass on glass from behind the bar. The stained-wood darkness of the pub exacerbated the feeling of being cocooned, isolated in a little bubble of Merlin-and-Arthur. It felt safe, a special place all of their own that was at the same time both public and profoundly intimate.

There was a simplicity and sincerity in Merlin’s voice that rang true. Soothed, Arthur let his mouth quirk up at one corner.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, tilting his head to one side.

“You’re welcome.” Merlin returned his smile and leaned forward a little, until their faces were almost touching, and oh! It would only take a second to dip in and claim those tantalising lips for himself.

All Arthur’s misgivings about dating an employee went out of the window. He lifted his jaw, his lips parting slightly.

“Would you like another one of those?” A gruff voice interrupted them, making Arthur jump.

Merlin sprang back, as if scalded.

“What?” said Arthur, confused.

The waiter nodded at his glass. “Whiskey. Another?” He lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“Oh.” Arthur sighed. He turned back to Merlin.

But Merlin was fishing his buzzing phone out of his pocket. He mouthed the word “Gwaine” and mimed towards his phone with an apologetic shrug, and the quiet moment they had shared vanished so thoroughly that Arthur wondered if he had imagined it.

“Yeah, same again, please.”

“Anything for your boyfriend?” The waiter nodded towards Merlin, who was speaking into his phone and therefore unaware of the deep blush that spread up Arthur’s neck and started encroaching on his ears before he could do a single damn thing about it, let alone correct the waiter’s erroneous assumption, because, Christ, that was the second time today that a stranger had inferred that the two of them were dating. Was Arthur really that obvious?

“Erm. He’ll have a raspberry mojito,” he managed to croak out eventually. “Because he’s actually a girl. Not that he’s my girlfriend, I mean. Haha. Anyway. You know.”

After another whiskey, and another, the heat of it loosened his limbs and the tension in his belly and chest began to ease a little.

“So, I  still haven’t worked out what to do about this bloody troll.” Arthur slumped back into his chair with a sigh. His legs felt heavy. Perhaps he had better not have any more of that single malt. Besides which, it was outrageously expensive. “What do you think?”

“Clotpole.” Merlin shook his head, staring over the top if his ridiculous cocktail, with an expression of soft-eyed exasperation that looked almost fond. “Asking me when you already know perfectly well what we have to do.”

“Maybe I do,” acknowledged Arthur. “It’s just… I know I can rely on you to be honest. And maybe I just wanted your opinion to confirm what I already knew. Come on, Merlin humour me.” He looked up at Merlin and waited.

A note of brooding contemplation darkened Merlin’s brow and made him press his lips together. It was almost worse than those merry-eyed twinkles and dimples that drew Arthur’s gaze whenever Merlin cracked an off-colour joke. Merlin’s eyes darkened, and his jaw went all taut. Scrub that. It was definitely worse.

Arthur could not peel his eyes away. Oh, God. He really was that obvious, wasn’t he?

“All right.” Merlin gazed at him with an intensity that was almost painful.

“Go on.” Arthur swallowed, but he did not look away.

“Someone has got to get everyone to unite against the common enemy.” Merlin arched an eyebrow. “Someone with leadership qualities. Someone who doesn’t put up with non-paying customers, but knows when to keep the shop open for customers suffering heart attacks. Someone that people would follow into hell and back, just because. Someone special, Arthur. And, in case it’s not blindingly obvious, I mean you.”

“Me?” Arthur felt thoroughly unworthy of all this sudden praise.

“Yes. You. You can do this.” Merlin’s eyes burned with a steady confidence in Arthur’s capabilities. “I know you can.”

“But, I can’t.” Arthur buried his head in his hands. “I mean, Elena and I get along fine, and Mithian, but what about Cenred? He and I have not spoken because Morgana has begged me to break all contact with him, since he started making inappropriate suggestions about threesomes with her half sister.” He pulled a face. “And she is family, after all. And, oh, God, I suppose Morgana needs to be there as well. She won’t be happy about it, not if he’s there, I know that. And then there’s the problem with Annis stealing Leon away from Elena…”

“I know that you and Cenred don’t exactly get on.” Merlin dropped his voice to an earnest, conspiratorial burr. “And Annis is pissed off with Mithian, and Elena is pissed off with Annis, and we’re all in a competitive situation. But this is bigger than all of that, Arthur. One company is trying to destroy you all. And if they do, the people of this town will have no choice. There will be no opportunity for the hipsters to go to Annis’s for the brownies, and the leathery ones to go to Cenred for all the… all the… you know. Leather and such. And the sporty ones to go to Elena’s for the sweet-potato fries, and for anyone with a pulse to come to us for the best all-day breakfast in town, and to ogle your perfect bum.” He giggled, hand flying up to his mouth. “Oops!”

“Merlin!” Not for the first time that evening, Arthur felt heat steal up his cheeks.

“Sorry. I hadn’t meant to mention your bum. Oops! No more cocktails for me!”

Merlin clamped both hands to his mouth, and although Arthur could no longer see the skin on Merlin’s face, due to the luscious growth that now clustered there, the fog of alcohol and the darkness of the room did not hide the fact that the tips of Merlin’s ears were now tinged with pink. It seemed like this whole blushing thing was becoming quite the epidemic. Arthur couldn’t help the sudden surge of hope that sprung up in his chest over what that might mean.  

“Anyway!” Merlin looked up at him slyly from between lowered lashes, and Arthur didn’t know if the sudden thud-thud that jarred his ribcage was the relentless music or a sudden uptick in his heartrate, but he had his suspicions, because, God. Was Merlin flirting with him?  

“The point is… Arthur? are you listening to me?”

“I’m all ears!” Arthur said, huskily. He took a slurp of his whiskey to disguise the sudden hoarseness of his voice “Do go on.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but continued, waving his hands animatedly as he spoke. “The point is, clotpole, that the great thing about this town is the variety, you know? The, you know, choices, and if Vortigern has his way, then everyone stands to lose. As I see it. So, you know, we all, even that weasel Cenred, with his hallitosis, and general creepiness, and anyway Morgause is not a bad sort, really, when you look past all the eyeliner, erm, where was I? Yes, we all need to put aside our petty squabbles and fight the real enemy. Dragonbucks.”

“But how?” Frustrated, Arthur shoved anguished hands into his hair and gazed at Merlin. “I can’t exactly invite them all round to Camelot Coffee for a cuppa, can I? There is so much bad blood between us.”

“Why not? If anyone can do it, you can. I believe in you, Arthur.” Merlin’s eyes shone with something that looked a little bit like encouragement and a lot like admiration. This time, the warmth that fizzed through Arthur’s gut and spread out to his chest was nothing to do with the whiskey. “I always have.”

And the funny thing was that when Merlin looked at him like that, Arthur started to believe it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: warning for description of a third party in medical distress, plus grieving, reliving past trauma, and past minor character death.


	5. The Round Table

It took many weeks, but finally the owners of all five cafes in Albion agreed to meet, after hours at Camelot Coffee.

Annis and Leon had already taken their seats at the large, round table in the centre of the main room of the coffee shop, where they sat muttering together over a cup of Merlin’s almond-milk hot-chocolate. Not that Arthur was allowing veganism to completely take over the cafe, of course. But if that was what the punters liked, who was he to say no?

It was a coolish night in early Spring, but the shop was warm and cosy thanks to the heat pumped out by Excalibur and by Arthur's storage heater. But nevertheless the atmosphere on one side of the table remained frosty. Pursed-lipped, Annis occasionally darted malignant glares across the table towards Mithian. Elena was sitting by herself, consulting her phone, with her back pointedly turned on Annis and Leon.

Next to them, however, a spirit of bonhomie reigned. Mithian had insisted on bringing Gwaine with her, and two of them were chatting and laughing with Merlin. Gwaine’s chair was far too close to Merlin’s. A situation that did not improve when Gwaine caught Arthur’s eye, smirked, bent towards Merlin, and whispered something into Merlin’s ear that made his ears turn pink and his eyes disappear into mirthful half-moons. Merlin shoved Gwaine’s arm, as well he might, and Gwaine shoved him back. The whole thing might have descended into an unseemly wrestling match if Arthur hadn’t cleared his throat pointedly.

He made a mental note to make sure that Gwaine and Merlin were separated in any future meetings. Plus Annis and Mithian. And Annis and Elena. Perhaps he should set up a table plan?

Merlin’s beard had now taken on an air of permanence, thanks to the trimming device that Gwen had bought for him. Close-trimmed, sleek and glossy, thicker around the sideburns that framed his cheekbones, somehow the dense hair showed off the vibrant blue of Merlin’s eyes and deepened the plush pink bow of his lips. And, gosh, wasn’t that a phrase that he’d like Merlin to say? _Plush pink._ Arthur could just picture the way that his lips would pucker then explode, the way that the hairs around his mouth would change direction as he spoke. None of which was anything that Arthur would say to Merlin direct, of course. Somehow the words stuck in his throat, making him swallow a lot, and bite his own lip.

At least Morgana had deigned to join them. She was sitting next to Arthur, glaring at everybody with her customary lip-curl, which was meant to signify aloof disdain, but ever since Merlin had told Arthur in an undertone that it made her look constipated, Arthur kept wanting to ask her if she wanted to him to add syrup of figs to her hot chocolate. Which would not go down well. So he had to bite his lip instead.

What with one thing and another, it was a wonder that he had any lips left. At this rate, he’d bite them right off. And then where would he be?

“Stop fidgeting, little brother.” Morgana glared at him, placing a perfectly manicured hand upon his restless knee. “I see you haven’t managed to improve your dress sense. This is meant to be a cool place to come, brother dearest, not some sort of rest home for failed Old Etonians.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur scowled back. “I have taken on board your advice, and dress casually for work, these days.” He gestured at his current outfit.

“Hmm.” Morgana’s top lip acquired a disdainful curled. “Of course! Because nothing screams _casual_ and _edgy_ like a pair of pink chinos. Good God, Arthur. How come your style is stuck firmly in full-on posh, privately educated mode?”

“I like Arthur’s chinos.” Merlin, who was sitting on the other side of her, broke off his conversation with Gwaine for a second. “They’re very, um, well-fitting, I mean, they fit him well, I mean to say, um, snug, like, they don’t, it’s…” Merlin’s face turned a strange shade of puce, and he seemed to have lost the power of speech for a moment.

“Thank you Merlin.” Arthur appreciated the backup, but hoped that Merlin’s articulacy would return before the rest of their guests arrived.

“Oh, please.” Morgana rolled her eyes. “They look like an explosion in a salmon farm. And what about the hair? Male hair is very _in_ , at the moment. And okay I’ll grant you that the beard was a disaster, but you could do something with that unruly blond mop, surely? Why can’t you grow it and get a top-knot, like Leon?”

“Stop taking the piss, Morgana,” growled Arthur, insults. “Or I’ll tell Morgause what you called Cenred.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Watch me.” Arthur stuck out his tongue. “Ah, talk of the devil.”

When Cenred strode through the door in Morgause’s wake, and they took the remaining two empty seats next to Mithian, Arthur breathed an internal sigh of relief. Which was short lived. Not that he hadn’t expected trouble.

A jagged elbow made insistent little jabs at his ribs.“Ow!”

“You didn’t tell me _he_ was coming,” hissed Morgana. Her lips narrowed to a dangerous line and she started to struggle to her feet. “I’m not sharing a table with _him_!”

“Morgana!” Cenred stared back at her with that insouciant air that he had. The one that made even Arthur want to punch him on the nose. “How utterly _delicious_ it is to see you.” He actually licked his lips as he stared back at her, making Arthur shudder. He opened his mouth to tell Cenred to stop acting like a fucking creep, but luckily Morgana beat him to it.

“Don’t make me feel sick, Cenred,” she spat, grabbing her handbag. “Goodbye, Arthur. I’m leaving.”

“No, no! Look, I’m sorry, Morgana,” Arthur grabbed her hand. “I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew they were coming, and you really need to be here. Stay. Please.”

“I’ve got no problem with Morgause.” She glared at him, but sat down again. “All right,” she said in an undertone. “You’ve got ten minutes and then I’m off.” She went back to glaring at Cenred from beneath lowered brows.  

“You’ll be glad you stayed, I swear,” said Merlin from the other side of her.

A murmur of expectant conversation filled the room, but they all quietened down when Arthur raised his hand.

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” he said. “I know many of you are not entirely happy about meeting up with each other. I wanted to talk to you about something that threatens all our businesses.”

“My business was doing fine until someone stole my star baker!” said Elena, lips tightening to an angry rosebud as she glared at Annis.

“Oh, please, Leon is his own man,” said Annis, flicking hair out of her face with a disdainful shake of her head. “If you wanted to hang on to him, you should have made a counter-offer.”

Elena snorted. “I couldn’t compete with the sort of benefits you were offering, Annis,” she said, examining her fingernails primly.

Leon opened his mouth to protest, but Annis was already standing up.

“How dare you!” Annis slammed her fist on the table. “My relationship with Leon is purely professional.”

“Is that what you call it?” Mithian snorted.

“No-one asked you!” yelled Annis. “You’re in a flimsy position, with your goji-berry this and your quinoa that, you’re taking my market, you opportunistic little thief!”

“How dare you!” It was Mithian’s turn to stand up, her nostrils flaring with outrage. “Take that back!”

“Ahem!” said Arthur, but this time no amount of throat clearing and huffing persuaded them to sit down again. Things were already beginning to get a bit heated, and they still hadn’t got to the nub of the meeting. Arthur sent a panicky glance over towards Merlin, and mouthed “do something” at him.

“What?” mouthed Merlin back.

Arthur shrugged, and shook his head.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He stood and bashed the table hard with his fists. “ _Shut up_!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

Everyone in the room fell silent and gaped at him. He gaped back, as if astonished that his tactic had worked.

“Oh, great,” muttered Arthur, burying his face in his hands. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

“Erm.” Merlin licked his lips and looked around the room. “Look, It’s all right, I mean, Annis’s cafe is called Caer _Leon_ Cafe, after all. I mean, it’s almost as if Leon was destined to work there, right? The clue’s in the name…And I reckon that there’s room for more than one place in town that makes vegan cakes, I mean, we stock Leon’s cakes here, now, as well, haha.”

It was amazing, really. Merlin was spouting all sorts of nonsense, but there was a soothing quality to his voice, an earnest set to his brows, and a sort of disarming, warm affection in his eyes. The room fell silent, as if soothed by the lull of Merlin’s voice and his expressive hands as he babbled and flattered and made sly, unfunny jokes. Before long they were all back in their seats, and one or two of them were even smiling.

“Caer _Leon_ ,” Arthur heard Leon mutter. “I like that! Can we change that L to a capital, Annis, love? Or maybe italics? Italics would look great! Caer _Leon_!”  

“Of course, we can, love.” Annis patted his hand.

Amazing.

Merlin nodded at him to proceed.

“Right. Well.” Arthur coughed. “Erm. Look, the reason why i have brought you here is that we all share a problem.”

“Yeah, you,” muttered Cenred, but Morgause punched him hard on the shoulder and he subsided again.

Arthur looked down at his notes. Just before she left for the day, Gwen had suggested that he should bring them, telling him to think of it as another one of his school public speaking competitions. It was sound advice, he was finding. Breathing deeply to clear his mind, he spared a second to be thankful to her, before looking up again.

“It is rare for us to look up from our day to day lives and spend time together,” he said, looking round the room at each individual person, and trying to make eye contact with them all. “And I realise that mostly our time is spent trying to outwit each other in the quest for the best staff, and the best suppliers, and the best customers. But something has happened. Something serious, that threatens us all. These negative reviews we have all been receiving are all founded on lies. For the good of us all, and the future of Albion’s growing coffee-drinking population, it is time for us to get together and-- ”

“Get on with it, you pompous old git,” said Cenred. He belched loudly.

“Shut up, Cenred,” said Morgana. “You slimy, leathery creep. I, for one, am interested in what Arthur has to say.”

Arthur frowned. This unexpected support from his half-sister made him feel nervous. Normally he would need to fight to get past her. What was she playing at? Plus, now he came to think about it, although she had addressed Cenred, her eyes were levelled at Morgause.

“Me too,” said Morgause, looking right back at her with a tiny, enigmatic smile upon her lips.

“And I,” said Annis, standing up again. “I’ve had three negative reviews in the last week about Leon’s baking. Which is clearly nonsense. So, I agree with Arthur. There’s something suspicious going on, and we need to get to the bottom of it. Go on, Arthur.”

“Thanks, Annis.” Arthur flashed her a grateful smile, and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we all share some problems. We’ve all had negative reviews recently - unearned, I’m sure - and at the same time, out of no-where we’ve had seemingly irresistible offers from Dragonbucks Coffee to sell up. I think that the two are not unrelated. I think Dragonbucks is trying to get a foothold in this town, in fact, more than that, I think they’re trying to get a monopoly. And I think they’re using underhand tactics to do it. Once they’ve established themselves here, who knows how many coffee shops they will close to concentrate custom and minimize costs?”

The room was silent again, and he had their full attention.

“That’s all very well,” said Elena at last, voicing what Arthur suspected was everyone’s next thought. “And I’m not saying that I don’t agree with you. But what the hell can we do about it?”

Arthur smiled. “That, dear Elena, is why we are all here.” He tugged a huge piece of paper out of the tube that he’d been holding under the table, and spread it flat in front of everyone. “I’ve got a few ideas, but it will take a team effort to pull them off. We’ll need all our contacts in the local council. We’ll have to put in a lot of extra hours. But ultimately I think it’ll be worth it. What do you say. Are you in?”

“No,” said Cenred, leaning back on his chair and staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cenred, shut up, you gassy old wind bag!” said Morgause, bashing Cenred hard on the arm. “You haven’t even heard what Arthur has to say.”

“You forget who pays your rent,” growled Cenred.

“And you forget who owns your leasehold.” Morgause tossed her hair and her eyes flicked lazily over towards Morgana.

Morgana's face bore that innocent, raised-eyebrow, "who, me?" expression that Arthur recognised from their childhood. He had learned, through bitter experience, not to trust that expression. It invariably led to him being blamed for something nefarious. Interesting. What the hell was she up to, with Morgause? He exchanged a look with Merlin, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.  

“Of course we all are, Arthur,” said Mithian, with a tired swipe of her hand through her hair. “But what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” said Arthur, grinning. “They do say that attack is the best form of defence…”  


	6. Essetir Iron Horse Cafe

Arthur hated to admit it, but when he was hungover, there was really only one destination worth visiting in Albion. Morgause and Cenred’s _Essetir Iron Horse Cafe_ , (pronounced _caff_ ) popular among the local motorcycle community, served a massive fry-up with huge mugs of scalding hot builder’s tea or strong coffee, all for under a fiver. Of course, he did have another more serious reason for visiting, today. But there was no denying that the all-day breakfast provided an additional incentive.

“I’m beginning to think that last beer might have been a bit off,” he groaned into his tea. His roiling stomach echoed his words. He belched, loudly, hoping for some relief from the nausea that plagued him, but instead tasted bile. “Oh, God. What were we _thinking_ , last night? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Merlin, who was sitting opposite him, bent low, with his nose buried in his black coffee, inhaling steam as if it was a curative.

“Order some food.” Arthur peered at him blearily. Merlin’s normally bright eyes were sunken, and his skin was pale and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. “Look at you, mate. Blimey. The last time I saw something looking that miserable, the vets put it to sleep, shortly afterwards.”

“Right now, that sounds like a good idea,” Merlin moaned, holding his head with one hand and his coffee with the other. “Kill me. Kill me now! Put an end to it all.” He took a swig and shuddered.

Arthur snorted. “You look half dead already.”

“Thanks a bunch.” Merlin gestured vaguely at Arthur’s tea. “You’re a fine one to talk, with your sunglasses and gallon of hot, sugary water. Anyway, there’s literally nothing on this menu that I can eat.” He frowned at the laminated menu card, which was adorned with cheery pictures of the sort of plain, hearty food that was popular with the local builders, bikers, and indeed anyone who was suffering after a mammoth night at The Rising Sun. “Plus, these apostrophes hurt my eyes. ”

He pointed an accusing finger at the offending entry. The menu writer, evidently not entirely certain of the rules about apostrophes, had erred on the side of inserting them wherever they chose. _Deliciou’s bean’s on toa’st_ , it read. _Hot cup’s of tea. Free refill’s._

“It stinks of bacon in here.” Merlin grumbled on. “Yuck. Think I’m gonna puke. Oh, God, I wish I hadn’t moved my _face_. Gwaine was wrong. This was a terrible idea.” He clutched at his hair with his free hand so that it poked up in great, greasy clumps, making him look like he’d just been thoroughly debauched.

Swallowing, Arthur had to look away for a moment. What was it about Merlin? Why was it that even with this kind of vile pit of hangover, he could look so appealing?  

“I think he just sent me out of the house so he could have an early morning shag with that Eira woman he picked up last night, to be honest.” Merlin went on, his face crumpling into an anguished expression. “And God knows, I don’t want to listen to that any longer. But, ugh, this place smells of dead animal. And I’ve lost my pendant. Fuck. God hates me.”

There was indeed a strong, bacon-ey aroma filling the steam-laden atmosphere. The cafe was filled to bursting. All around, busy formica tables echoed to the clatter of cutlery. The clientele, a mixture of tradespeople, pensioners, bikers, travelers, and an out-of-place looking business-woman in a shocking pink trouser suit, examined their copies of tabloid newspapers. A television, set to a sport channel showing women’s cricket, flickered silently in one corner.

“Look, I’m sorry about your pendant,” said Arthur. “Can’t you get another one?”

“Not really.”  Merlin shrugged, then winced. “Ow, my head! They’re from our uni LGBTQ soc, see. We only had a limited number made.”

Arthur leaned back on his chair, suddenly grateful for his aviators. LGBTQ soc? So that confirmed it. Merlin was gay.

“So, you and Gwaine…” he said, hoarsely, not wanting to know, but unable to stop himself from asking, either.

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “We met at uni,” he said, tracing the pattern on his mug with one finger. “Gwaine’s - well, he'll be the first to tell you, so it's probably ok to reveal - he's pansexual, see. Anyway, we dated, for a while! He was my first actually. Great in bed, crap at being in a relationship. Anyway, we split up, and the pendant became a sort of symbol of us still being friends...”

 _Great in bed._ Arthur nodded, tamping down the sudden hot flare of jealousy that blazed in his chest.

“... because it was a disaster. Gwaine just can’t keep it in his pants. He’s physically incapable. And anyway, he’s not my type. I’m not into the whole _naughty Jesus_ look, I’m more…” his voice trailed off and he stared at Arthur, biting his lip, his eyes an anguished shade of blue. “...I always seem to fall for pompous straight guys, to be honest, and, oh, God, why am I telling you this? I’m such an...”

“Merlin.”

“...idiot. What a way to come out to your boss, get shit-faced and then get your flat mate to call him and make him take you out to breakfast because you’ve got an epic hangover…

“Merlin!”

“...nearly puke into your boss’s _tea_...”

“Merlin!” hissed Arthur. “If you’ll stop talking for just one second!”

“Sorry, boss.” Merlin clamped his lips together.

“Look, It’s okay,” said Arthur, gazing at the ceiling for inspiration and trying to ignore the heavy, fast thud of his heart. “I don’t require my staff to mention their sexual identity when I interview or hire them, that would be illegal and unethical and, anyway, as I identify as bisexual myself, I… Merlin? Merlin... Are you okay?”

Because Merlin was suddenly choking into his cup, shoulders shaking, eyes wild.

“Fine, fine,” said Merlin, pressing his hand to his mouth. “I just… it’s. Erm. The smell of bacon, I think.”

“Gwaine definitely did the right thing calling me,” said Arthur, trying to keep his voice firm and steady despite the sudden wave of confusion that washed over him. Merlin was gay. Merlin was _gay_. He needed to change the subject, and quickly, because this was dangerous territory and he needed time to process this new information. “Just get some hot food inside. That’ll make you feel better.”

Arthur caught Morgause’s eye and waved. She started to approach, her pencil poised.

“If you can keep it down, that is,” he added, because Merlin had turned, if anything, an even paler shade, and was swallowing, reflexively. “We’ve still got an hour before Camelot Coffee is due to open.”

“Only an hour?” Gingerly, Merlin laid his head upon his forearms. He made tiny, pained noises that were suspiciously close to whimpers.

“Big night, boys?” Morgause smirked.

“Yeah,” croaked Arthur, squinting at the menu. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted - whether he could stomach the top item, ( _The Work’s - scrambled egg’s, bacon, sausage’s, fried onion’s and tomato’es, with your choise of toa’st!)_ or should settle for something a little lighter. The rogue apostrophes swum across his vision like little tadpoles. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, not at all, Arthur,” she deadpanned. “It’s not obvious at all, because you _always_ look like something that’s been dragged in by my cat, stink like a brewery, and wear your sunglasses all day. What was the occasion?”

“Um.” Arthur frowned. “It was just one of those random things, to be honest.”

He couldn’t quite remember how or why it had started. He vaguely recalled something to do with Gwen celebrating because she had finally managed to get a date with some half-Chilean bloke she’d met volunteering at the local homeless shelter. And there was something else, too. Her brother. That was it! Her brother was coming home!

So, it was all Gwen’s fault. A seemingly innocuous day at the office had ended up with ridiculous, insane amounts of frothy, dark beer that slipped right down and made his defences fall away until he found himself standing on a table, waving his shirt around his head and singing “King of the Road”, and then oh God, there were pictures. He winced at the thought. There were pictures, right there on his instagram feed, of Arthur with one arm slung round Merlin’s skinny shoulders, both of them guffawing at the camera, or rather phone, Gwen’s phone, and there would be evidence, plastered all over Camelot Coffee’s social media presence.

And then, above everything else, there was beer. A lot of beer. A big lot. Hence his current predicament. He needed greasy food, plenty of it, and fast.

“So, what can I get you?”

Arthur blinked. “I’ll have _The Work’s_ please, with extra black pudding,” he said, hoarsely. He glanced over at the vision of misery that was Merlin’s crumpled form, currently slumped all over a placemat. “And he’ll have some baked beans on toast, no butter, with mushrooms, hash browns - cooked in oil, not butter - and tomatoes. Won’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin’s grunted reply sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Morgause started to turn away but then turned back again.

“By the way,” she said, softly. “For what it’s worth, I completely agree with you.”

“You do?” Arthur stared at her dumbly, wondering what the hell she was talking about.

“Yes. About Dragonbucks, I mean,” she went on. “I think there’s something fishy going on.”

“Oh!” Arthur really shouldn’t drink beer. It was making his faculties very slow.

“Yes. We had another shocking review today. Thankfully, my customer base is not that driven by hits from RateMyCoffeeDotCom. But I don’t want a Dragonbucks opening on this town. It’ll kill us. I think your idea of a local currency is great. And I can help with your research. You can depend on me.”

“Thanks.” Arthur nodded, and then winced as pain shot up his neck into his already protesting head.

“Cenred told me that he’d vetoed using the Albion Pound in our shop.” She smirked. “Don’t worry. He was over-ruled.”

“Great. Thanks, Morgause.” Introducing the Albion Pound was one of their strategies for protecting the town's independent traders.

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes glinted, derangedly, then she turned to march over to the counter.

Crikey. For such a diminutive, soft-spoken person, Morgause did have a wide range of deranged eye-glints. This particular one made Arthur shiver and feel at once both a little bit scared and grateful that she was on his side.

“She’s a bit terrif—” he began, looking back at Merlin.

Merlin, who had a curly, unkempt beard that clung to his cheekbones as if it was scared to let go. Merlin, whose hair billowed out around his face in a dark, fluffy cloud, and who wore his loyalty to his friends like a badge of honour around his neck. Merlin. Who was gorgeous and lively and frank and hilarious. And _gay_.

But the only reply that he got was a gentle snore.

Arthur ground his teeth together in frustration. Because, as well as all of those things, all of those horribly, addictively charming and lovable things, all those things that made Arthur want to touch and cherish and smile and laugh and _love_ , dammit, Merlin was also hopelessly, utterly and irrevocably unattainable.

Because he was Arthur’s employee.


	7. Camelot Coffee, Reprise

“I knew your new boyfriend was trouble.” Arthur quirked a smile at the sheer joy that animated Gwen’s face. “No-one could actually be that good looking _and_ honourable at the same time.”

“Oh, stop it.” Gwen rolled her eyes.

It was a couple of months later, and winter had lost its drizzly grip on the town. Daffodils peeped out into occasional glimpses of sunshine, and little posies of them decorated Camelot Coffee’s window boxes and tables, so that from time to time their scent masked the more normal smells of cinnamon, chocolate and coffee. Even better, the clocks had gone forward, which meant that it would be light when they went home. It was as if the town was waking from a long sleep.

“Seriously, we’ll miss you.” Arthur was sitting at the corner table of Camelot Coffee with Gwen, discussing her reasons for leaving.  “And half-Chilean good looks or not, Lancelot had better watch himself. If he does anything to hurt you, or anything to jeopardise your professional career, I’ll round up the lads. Well, Merlin, anyway. For what it’s worth. And we’ll be on your doorstep in minutes. Merlin could, I don’t know, bore Lancelot with some self-righteous maundering about veganism, or...”

“Oi!” Merlin paused in his mission of showing Elyan how to clean Excalibur. “I heard that! Veganism is not self-righteous, Arthur, it’s--”

“... or something else insufferably worthy!” Arthur interrupted, a little louder, enjoying the look of indignation that flashed across Merlin’s face. There was something about baiting Merlin, about the extra colour to his cheekbones and the irritated flash of his eyes, that made it irresistible somehow.

“Oh, right, and what are you going to do, you pompous clotpole?” retorted Merlin, depositing his cloth on the counter and putting his hands on his hips. “Threaten him with an over-cooked sausage? Or worse, an under-cooked one?”

“Oh, ha, ha!” Arthur’s sarcastic tone did not hide his enjoyment at the exchange, which already had heat flashing up his own cheeks and laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Don’t be silly, Arthur.” Ever the diplomat, Gwen patted his hand, a fond gesture that he wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else, but from her it just came across as rather sweet. “I’ll only be down the road! And anyway, my brother will be right here!”

It had been good luck, or maybe good planning, that Gwen’s brother had returned from travelling just as Gwen had decided to go and work for her boyfriend Lancelot’s start-up marketing business in a neighbouring town.

“Lancelot is a good guy, Arthur,” said Elyan. His voice had a calm depth to it that Arthur found instantly reassuring. “I promise you that I vetted him thoroughly before letting him hire my little sister.” He winked slyly at Arthur behind Gwen’s back.

“What?” Gwen’s jaw dropped in outrage. “You did nothing of the sort! I am my own woman, you know, there is no need to defend my honour like some sort of neanderthal, anyway Lancelot hired me because of my expertise, not my looks, and you’d better remember that, you’re my brother, not my guardian! Of all the arrogant, sexist… oh... God, you’re teasing me again, for fuck’s sake Ely!”

Elyan burst out laughing.

“I missed you,” she said, fondly, laughing with him. “You big tease.”

“It’s good to be back.” When Elyan smiled, his eyes compressed to mischievous almond-shapes. Elyan was startlingly beautiful, but more importantly also had fantastic credentials from his time working at a beach bar in Speightstown, Barbados. Plus, a few days ago he came in for a trial shift, and hit it off with Merlin immediately, which boded well for a harmonious front of house. And when he mentioned his famous vegan curry chickpea roti recipe, Merlin turned soulful blue eyes on Arthur, and that was that. Elyan was hired on the spot.

“Look, I’ve got to go now,” he added, looking at his watch. “I’m going out tonight and my bus leaves in ten minutes. Thanks for the lesson, Merlin! See you tomorrow, guys! Gwen, don’t stay out too late.”

“Cheeky devil,” she said without heat. “I’ll stay out as late as I like!”

“Bye Elyan.” Merlin squirted glass-cleaning fluid on the outside of the already pristine display cabinet, giving it a few final vigorous swipes.

Hanging up his apron, Elyan waved a farewell as he stepped outside and was gone.

“I can tell that Elyan is going to work out really well,” said Arthur, as he watched him set off down the street. “And I’m delighted that we’ll still be connected. But, look, Gwen. I do worry that you’re doing the right thing. The door is always open for you to return, if it doesn’t work out. And I’m not lying. We will miss you.”

He’d come to rely on Gwen, with her no-nonsense efficiency and kind manner. But she deserved this break. Plus, it would be a much better application of her marketing degree than serving coffee.

“Yeah, especially me,” said Merlin applying a cloth to the chiller cabinet with a flourish. “Need someone to dilute all this clotpoleness, don’t I!”

“Clotpoleness? Is that even a word?” Arthur smirked at Merlin. “What does it even mean?”

“Yes,” said Merlin at once. “Definition: bearing a resemblance to Arthur Pendragon.”

“Oh, you two! Listen, I’ll pop in from time to time.” Gwen said, chuckling into her teacup. “If you’re stretched, I can even do a late afternoon shift or two, if you’re stuck. I mean, it’s not as if Lancelot’s got that many clients, yet, and I’m helping with your _Slay the Dragonbucks_ campaign, and I know there’s a lot of admin still to do with the new Albion Pound thing, and I did promise to help out with that, so--”

The grandly titled Council of Five Coffee Shops had persuaded the town council and one of the local banks to support the new currency, and it had gone down a storm with the market traders, non-chain pubs and independent shops on the High Street. All the participating businesses were offering a ten percent discount for customers paying in Albion Pounds, rather than the usual Pounds Sterling, and it was already having a big impact on trade.  

“That’s great, Gwen, and I appreciate your offer. We’re so busy these days that I might well need to take you up on it. But I did want to ask. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Arthur didn’t want to put a damper on her enthusiasm, but he was concerned.

“What do you mean?” She took a sip of her tea.

“I’ve always thought that… you know.” Arthur sighed, using a forefinger to trace the rim of chocolate that had been left on his cup by his cappuccino froth.

“Let’s assume for one moment that, despite all her talents, Gwen can’t read your mind, therefore she doesn’t,” said Merlin from the other side of the room, before diving into the base of the freezer cabinet with his cloth.

“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, automatically.

“What did I say?” Quite how Merlin could manage to project an air of wounded innocence across the room while his back was turned Arthur really could not say.

“Anyway. As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted!” Arthur rolled his eyes towards Merlin’s vigorously shaking shoulders, which were engaged in some sort of complicated wiping ritual that Arthur could not fathom, but nevertheless appreciated, because it made Merlin’s back and arse jiggle most provocatively. “My father drilled into me that it was dishonourable to enter into a relationship with a junior member of staff. And I have held to that principle for my whole working life.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Arthur!” Gwen rolled her eyes, but fondly, so he couldn’t really object. “How puritanical are you?”

“It’s not a matter of puritanism,” said Arthur, loftily. “It’s to do with the power imbalance and the ethical issues associated with workplace relationships. I would never… and I know it’s the other way round, for you, and that you’re already in the relationship, but are you sure you’ll be all right working for him? It introduces lots of complexities into the working environment, I mean, what about the other staff? And… and… erm… Merlin, are you all right?”

For Merlin had let out a strangled sort of groan, hurled down his cloth, and paused in his ministrations. He now stood, back still turned, bent at the waist with his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Merlin said in a high-pitched, tense voice. “Me? I’m brilliant! Absolutely fucking perfect, thanks.” Merlin fumbled with his apron knot for a moment before unwrapping the apron and hurling it to the floor. He whirled around, levelling a stormy glare at Arthur, and pointed an accusing finger. “At least I’m not an oblivious, self-righteous, pompous prat. With a pickle up my arse. Unlike some people.”

God. All those p’s. Merlin’s lips and beard were prancing around like… well. Arthur lost his trail of thought for a moment, before resorting to his standard insults of choice. He very much subscribed to the view that a smirk and crafted insult was the best way to proceed in the face of confusing feelings. He had a wide stock of such pithy comebacks lined up in his head, from which, he this time chose an old favourite, even though he’d already used it once that evening.

“Ooh, long words!” he said. “Do you even know what they mean?”  

“Augh!” In answer, Merlin gripped his hair, bared his teeth, and actually growled, an expression and sound of such furious frustration that Arthur was quite taken aback. “You really have no idea, do you?” With that, he stormed out. The bell above the door jangled forlornly in his wake, and then fell silent.

“Merlin?” yelled Arthur. “You haven’t fini-- Merlin?!”

But it was too late. Merlin was gone.

“What did I say?” Arthur gaped after the fleeing figure.

“Oh, Arthur.” With a deep sigh, Gwen patted him on the shoulder, very gently, and slowly rose to her feet. “I think that was the sound of a man who finally realises that something he’s been waiting for is never going to happen. And I advise you to work it out, quickly, or you might find yourself staring into the abyss of the “high staff turnover” rating on RateMyCoffeeDotCom.”

“But, why?” said Arthur, replaying the previous conversation in his head and wondering where it had all gone wrong.


	8. Camelot Coffee: In the Doldrums

The phone pinged again. Sighing, Arthur dragged it off his nightstand and stared bleary-eyed at it. A message blinked back.

_Not feeling well. Gwaine will do my shift today. --M_

_Gwaine?_ Groaning, Arthur massaged away the pain that instantly started to develop between his brows. Bad enough that he had to make do without Merlin, but having to tolerate that feckless, insolent Irishman was just the icing on the cake. If he got to the end of his shift without a customer threatening to sue Gwaine for harassment, it would be a miracle. God. It was going to be one of those days. He pulled his duvet over his head, to block out the inevitable pain of his approaching doom, but a moment later the shrill call of the alarm went off.  

Yep, definitely one of those days.

He was just helping Elyan to set out the chairs in the cafe, when the bell above the door heralded the imminent approach of his nemesis. Gwaine Green, larger than life, hair shining in the morning sun, strode in.

“Good morning, Princess!” Sunlight glinted on that damned pendant he always wore, the one that was identical to Merlin’s, and on his teeth as he flashed Arthur a grin.

“Gwaine,” Arthur growled, between gritted teeth.  “Thanks for helping out at short notice.”

“I see you’ve given up trying to grow a beard,” Gwaine added. “Good. It made you look like a 1970s gay porn star.”

Elyan’s sudden, violent coughing spasm did not fool Arthur for a second.

“I’ll be in the office, if you need anything,” said Arthur with all the dignity that he could muster. “I’m expecting a sausage delivery.”

“I’ll bet you are, Princess.” Gwaine winked lewdly.

Elyan’s coughing fit intensified. “Nasty bout of asthma,” he wheezed.

“Hmm.” Arthur rolled his eyes. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he breathed in deeply, and exhaled through his mouth. Gwaine very obviously hadn’t had to sit through one of Uther’s excruciating, two-hour long _Mandatory Respectfulness in the Workplace Training_ sessions. And while Arthur had known that a lecture would probably be necessary at some point during the day, he had hoped to at least have his first coffee before having to deliver it. “Gwaine?”

“Mmm?” hummed Gwaine, raising his eyebrows.

“I do appreciate you helping out at short notice,” said Arthur. “But please make a small effort not to drive away my new member of staff with homophobic comments. And yes, I know you’re pansexual, which apparently makes it okay for you to joke about my sexual orientation, but Elyan, here, is new, and therefore does not understand the context behind your so-called banter. So, button up.”

Gwaine’s mutinous shrug hardly reassured him, but Arthur never had enjoyed dealing with human resources issues before he’d had his first caffeine hit of the day, so he left it at that. For now, at least.

“Give me a shout when the butcher gets here.” He pushed open the door into the office. “Or if it gets busy.” And with that, he fled.

Resigned to the fact that the morning was going to be painful, he buried himself in work. First, he spent a good hour researching Vortigern’s business interests and feedback polls from town centres with Dragonbucks branches. Vortigern had just filed a planning application for huge new branch in Albion, on the site of the old Police Station, which had been closed to make cost savings. Arthur was hoping that with meticulous research and the backing of local residents, he could put a watertight case against it to the local council. Then he started drafting some letters to prominent local groups, and entries for Annis’s blog. Gwen, who was a wiz at proof-reading, would look them over later.  

The Council of Five Coffee Shops was beginning to make quite a nuisance of themselves in their campaign to keep Albion a Dragonbucks-free zone. Arthur did not expect Vortigern to give up without a fight, but it turned out that between them they had quite a depth of expertise and, with Annis’s blog, a platform with decent circulation to raise awareness of Vortigern’s dirty business practices.

But the thing was that they did get busy, most mornings these days. Something about Camelot’s all day breakfasts was really pulling in punters - whether it was the introduction of smashed avocado on toast, the new vegan cake line, or Gwen’s clever online marketing campaign, he couldn’t be sure. So, after a couple of hours there was a soft knock at the office door.

“Yes?”

“Erm, Arthur?” Elyan stood politely waiting. “We’re a bit busy, do you think you could…”

“Of course.” Straightening, Arthur rolled his shoulders and head to iron out the crick in his neck, and followed Elyan towards the shop floor.

Every table was full, and there was a queue for take-aways. That Mordred bloke was sitting with his feet up on the window seat, as usual, and empty cup in front of him. Frowning, Arthur went up to him and started to clear the table.

“Please can you put your feet down,” he said, not mincing any words, because he’d had enough of this chancer with his moody mouth and spiteful eyes. “So that a paying customer can use the seat. Now, have you finished this coffee, and can I get you anything else?”

“No, thanks,” said Mordred, frowning. He pushed away his cup and saucer which Arthur saw, to his annoyance, was empty and so dry that he must have been sitting there nursing it for ages while the cafe was full of people looking for somewhere to sit. “Where’s Merlin?”

“Not in today,” said Arthur, shortly. He beckoned to a woman who was holding a crying baby and trying to push a pushchair at the same time. “Here you are, Madam. This seat is free, I think. Let me help you with your coffee. Would you like me to hold the baby for a sec, while you sit down?”

“Oh, thank you!” She thrust the infant into his arms. It took one look at him and its face scrunched up in preparation for a loud wail. “Is it all right if I breast feed her in here?” she said, sitting down and holding out her arms.

“Of course, madam,” said Arthur, gently returning the noisy child to her mother. “Let me get you some water.”

Merlin had told him this tip, saying that his friend Freya always got really thirsty when she was nursing. Thanks to Merlin’s tips and some careful social media posts, Camelot coffee was getting quite a following, now, among the young parents in the area as a child-friendly place to sit and have a good breakfast.

“You can have the bloody table,” said Mordred, lip curling up in disgust as the woman started rummaging under her jumper in preparation for nursing. He muttered something about it being disgusting.

“Breastfeeding mums are always welcome here,” said Arthur, firmly. “Feeding a baby is the most natural thing in the world. If you don’t like it, you may leave.” He pointed at the door, for emphasis.

“I was leaving anyway.” Mordred scowled.

Arthur bit his lip, to stop himself from saying “Good!”, and walked away instead.

“Nice one, Princess!” said Gwaine, softly, when he returned to the counter.

“I’d rather have the nursing mums in here than that creep,” said Arthur, honestly, pulling on an apron and putting his key in the till. “They’re polite, they bring their friends, they buy lots of coffee, and they’re grateful to have somewhere dry to feed their tots. Mostly. As long as they don’t shove dirty nappies down the loo, I’m good.”  

“See, now, there was me thinking that you were a grumpy old posho with a pickle up your arse.” Dumping a load of coffee grounds into the bin, Gwaine chuckled. “But it turns out you’re not as grumpy as all that, now.”

It wasn’t so bad, working a shift with Gwaine, he acknowledged, begrudgingly. The guy was undoubtedly charming, and had a deft touch with customers, especially the ladies. And with that rakish beard, he probably fulfilled all Morgana’s edicts on hipsterishness. But the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t Merlin.

There was something about Merlin’s smile, his seemingly inane chatter that hid a wealth of sometimes startling wisdom, those moments when his sardonic quips flipped into soft-eyed admiration. Well. Arthur missed them, that was all, those moments. Already. Despite the fact that Merlin had only missed three hours of one shift. And the fact that he’d said something to piss Merlin off just made it all worse, somehow. He’d racked his brains but he could not work out for the life of him why Merlin had taken off, like that.

“What’s up with Merlin, anyway?” he said, when there was a lull. He grabbed at the tray of coffee grounds to avoid making eye contact with Gwaine. “He seemed okay yesterday.”

“Well, I dunno.” Gwaine, cheerfully slapped a couple of paninis under the grill. A sizzling sound and the scent of grilling cheese filled the air. “The eedjit said something about a clotpole-induced hernia, which sounds painful to me.”

Clotpole induced. So it was Arthur’s fault. Great.

Sighing, Arthur rested his hands upon the counter and bowed his head. HIs feet were already aching, and his head. And it was only ten o’clock. And there was this knot of pain that had lodged behind his sternum. Maybe that was what a clotpole-induced hernia, felt like, he thought, wildly, swallowing to try to make it disappear. But if anything it grew slightly bigger.

“Listen, Princess,” Gwaine added, putting his hand on Arthur’s back. “It’s not really any of my business, but. Ach, well, Merlin’s my best mate, you see. He and I... We’ve shared a lot, over the years. And I know he’d kill me for saying so. But I reckon you’re a decent sort, under that gruff exterior, so I’ll give you the benefit of me sage advice, like. And you might want to think again, about that unwritten rule of yours about dating employees, so.” He gave Arthur a little pat, as if petting a dog, and then went off to collect dirty crockery and wipe tables, adding, over his shoulder, “or at least, maybe ask Annis how it’s working out with her and Leon. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Bugger. He was short handed, and had a pissed-off employee, and this sort of HR-induced nightmare was exactly the sort of thing that worried Arthur about personal relationships between members of staff. And yet, here he was, suffering from the worst consequences of a failed work-place romance, but without any of the fun stuff. Sod it.

 


	9. Caerleon Cafe and Bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, well, this chapter, at one point, might cross the admittedly fuzzy line between "mature" and "explicit", during a passing fantasy. Sorry?

“Oh, hi, Arthur!” Leon Knight was the living embodiment of everything hipster. With his shaggy mane, tamed into a man-bun, his sandy beard, and his fair-trade Ecuadorian huarache sandals, he resembled the lion for which he was named. He was also one of the calmest people Arthur had ever met. “No Merlin again, today? Hang on, your cakes are out the back, I’ll pop through and get them for you.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he started to turn to go back into the shop.

Normally, Merlin would pick up their bakery order from Caerleon Cafe and Bakery, but he was still off “sick”, after a whole week, which had thrown a right old monkey-wrench into the previously well-oiled engine of Camelot Coffee’s routines. Arthur had half a mind to go round to Merlin’s flat with armfuls of flowers and (vegan) chocolates, and prostrate himself in apology upon the doorstep, begging Merlin to return, but what would that achieve? He still wasn’t sure what had upset Merlin so, and a tiny part of him acknowledged that he was afraid to find out, because he had a suspicion that so-called clotpolishness might be something to do with feelings, and insensitivity, and pride, and other things that Arthur could not quite put a name to, because just thinking about them made his guts twist into painful knots.

“Nah, it’s okay, Leon.” With an inner struggle, Arthur banished these thoughts and returned to the moment, putting a hand to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to pop in and have a word with you and Annis. About the Albion Chilli Festival.”

“Sure, no sweat.” Smiling, Leon ushered  Arthur over the threshold. “Annis! It’s Arthur! Wants to talk about chillies!” he yelled through the open door at the back of the shop.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” replied faint voice in reply. “Drying my hair!”

“She’ll be down in a sec, Arthur,” said Leon, turning back. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee? We’ve got tea cakes, fresh out of the oven, I could toast a couple for you…”

“Oh, I couldn’t possib--” started Arthur, although the teacakes sounded very tempting, and his stomach protested with a gurgle that reminded him that he hadn’t had any breakfast.

“Oh, go on, Arthur.” Leon’s lips twitched slyly, making all the hairs around his beard dance about. “It’s a new recipe and I’d appreciate your opinion.”

“Um.” There was a very brief inner debate. While loafing around on company time was unacceptable; helping a supplier with a review was quite different. “Er. Well. In that case, I’d be happy to help.”

"Sit down then!" Leon chuckled, as if he’d done something sneaky, and gestured into the shop, where a selection of tatty but serviceable seats, sofas and tapestry-covered cushions were set out, ready for the day.  

Arthur settled gratefully onto a comfortable leather chair in one corner. It sagged around him with a welcoming sigh, and he instantly felt more relaxed. It was like magic, Leon’s unmatched furniture. It looked scruffy and worn, but it was imbued with love, somehow. Arthur knew this was the kind of effect that Morgana wanted for Camelot Coffee, but suspected that it required rather more than deep pockets and an edict from on high to create the sort of ambience that Leon managed to produce without seeming effort. Part of it was the enticing array of sweet treats in view, of course. Two entire walls of the Caerleon Cafe and Bakery were devoted to the products of Leon’s kitchen. Plus, it had a mouth-watering shop-window display, which Leon spent two hours creating each morning, before doors opened at 9am.

“Thanks,” said Arthur, knowing that he’d been manipulated. “To be honest," he admitted, "I could do with something sweet.”

He’d slept poorly, and been up since five. What with all the worry about Merlin, he had felt queasy first thing. Plus, another one of those nasty reviews had appeared last night. Morgana had been sitting on his desk in the tiny office, reviewing progress on their campaign with him, when the notification came in. It wittered on about _screeming brat’s_ and _rood waiter’s_ , and then made some snide accusations about sexual harassment. Well, there’s nothing like a bit of unfair slander for depressing the appetite. So he had skipped breakfast, and was regretting it, because now, it was going on seven fifteen, and he was ravenous. Plus, it was actually a relief to forget about his coffee shop for a few minutes and enjoy being on the other side of the counter, for a change.

“No problem.” Leon’s skillfully sliced into a bun and loaded the two halves under the grill, pressing the timer switch with a flick of his finger. An appetising scent, of mingled cinnamon and fruit, wafted across the room. “Just sit there and I’ll bring it over in a tick. Annis should be down soon. If you don’t mind, I’ll get on with some other jobs while you’re waiting.”

“Of course.” Arthur picked up a copy of _Metro_ from the table and idly browsed the headlines. “Thanks, mate.”

A few minutes later, a gently steaming teapot and lightly toasted bun were placed on the table in front of him, before Leon’s broad shoulders disappeared back into the kitchen at the back of the bakery. Arthur hadn’t appreciated, until he met Leon, how strong a baker needed to be - but it turned out that juggling huge trays of loaves and pastries required lifting heavy weights for several hours a day, especially if you were working on the scale that Leon did, supplying bread and cakes to half the coffee shops in the town.

While he waited for Annis to appear, Arthur crunched down on his teacake, which was slathered with a generous helping of butter. Moaning in delight, he shoveled it in don to the last crumb, washing down each mouthful with a slurp of tea.

"What do you reckon? Are they all right?" said Leon, looking up from a tray of fondant fancies.

"They're bloody gorgeous, and you know it," Arthur replied, licking the buttery sweetness off his fingers before wiping at his hands and mouth with a paper napkin. "Do not change a thing about this recipe, mate. It's a winner." It went some way towards making him feel a little better, although not far enough. He had no idea how to mend the rift with Merlin. He sighed, heavily, and poured out another cup of Assam from the little white teapot.

“So, why the big sigh, then?” said Leon.

“Nothing.” Arthur changed his sigh to a yawn, patting at his mouth. “Just tired.”

“Hmm.” Leon shook his head. “You’re a tiny bit short staffed at the moment, I hear?” He placed the fancies carefully in the display cabinet, and bent to rearrange them. “Might that be anything to do with it?”

“Maybe.” Arthur twirled the cup round in its saucer, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “It’s a little bit stressful, I suppose. Anyway, how’s it working out for you, here, then? I mean, you’re in a relationship with the boss, right? Isn’t that a little bit uncomfortable?”

“Mmm?” Leon’s head was lowered as he tweaked the display of sugary confections. “You know, it’s absolutely fine. It’s rather handy in fact, living above the shop… I start baking at 4am, see, and the commute is peachy.”

“Oh?” Arthur hadn’t known that Leon had moved in, already. Swift work. “Ah, yeah, I see. Sweet!”

After a few minutes there was still no sign of Annis, and the audible high-pitched whine that presumably came from her hair-dryer didn’t wane one jot. He retrieved a little sugar packet from the bowl in the centre of the table, and toyed with it, wondering how to pose his next question.

“Um,” he said, at last. “But doesn’t it get - you know. Awkward, at times? I mean, sharing a workplace with your. Um. Partner? Sort of power imbalance, and stuff?” He stared at the sugar packet as if it held all the secrets of the universe.

“Power imbalance?” Leon let out a loud guffaw. “Ha! What, you mean, like Annis tying me up with her apron strings and having her wicked way with me on the floor of the bakery kitchen? Haha, that’s hilarious!”

“Leon!” Arthur’s face flamed. _BROWN SUGAR,_ stated the sugar packet. _Fairtrade Certified._ “That’s not what I mean!”

“Really?” Leon flashed him a pitying look, and shook his head. But just then, the steady drone of the hair-dryer stopped. Leon retreated into the kitchen.

Both relieved, and disappointed that he hadn’t had a proper answer to his question, Arthur dropped the sugar packet and ran shaky fingers through his hair instead. Fuck.

“Annis!” Leon yelled from somewhere within the inner sanctum. “Arthur’s still here!”

Her muffled voice filtered through the door. “Just a minute! Doing my make-up!”

Leon returned with a heavy box of unsliced poppyseed bloomers. A warm, yeasty, bread-y scent filled the air.

“Look, joking apart, Annis and me, we’re both professionals, okay? We keep work and play separate, you know?” One by one, Leon unloaded the loaves into baskets on the shelf behind the glass counter, with his back to Arthur. “It’s not like we’re always shagging on every work surface, or Annis is always giving me blow jobs up against the glass display cabinet!”

Leon’s words brought Arthur a sudden, unbidden mental vision. Of himself upon Camelot Coffee’s largest, round table, with his trousers around his ankles. Of Merlin’s plump, debauchable lips wrapped around Arthur’s cock. Of a pair of blue eyes, peeping up at him from beneath a fan of sooty lashes. Of his own hands, buried deep into a dark, shaggy mane, cradling the warmth of Merlin’s head in his fingers.

It was disconcertingly vivid, this vision. Definitely not the sort of thing that should be entering his mind when having a delicate discussion about professionalism with one of his suppliers. Mortified, he took a long slurp of his tea, and bit off another chunk of teacake. Maybe the taste of cinnamon would take his mind off things. Specifically, off Merlin’s mouth, facial hair, cheekbones, lips, ridiculous mop of hair, the play of muscles beneath his hipster clothes, the way his eyes tilted when he laughed, the way that his beard emphasized the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed... Oh, God. Fat chance. His imagination helpfully supplied a view of Merlin’s eyes closing, as if  drugged with ecstasy, as those sinful lips twisted and slid around the straining end of Arthur’s cock.

“I mean, apart from anything else, we’d have the Environmental Health Officer all over us,” Leon added, seemingly oblivious to Arthur’s confusion. “Not literally, of course. Haha.”

Camelot’s local Environmental Health Officer was a plumpish lady in her fifties with close-cropped hair and an officious-looking clipboard. As he imagined her walking into the scenario his evil mind had just painted, Arthur’s cosy little daydream abruptly exploded and he choked, through a nearly-spat-out mouthful of teacake, coughing and spluttering.

“Are you all right?” Leon looked up from his display case.

“Absolutely fine,” wheezed Arthur, his eyes watering so much that the shop was beginning to blur. “Actually, would you erm?” Unable to speak for a moment, he mimed a thumping movement.

“Arthur?” said Annis. Because, of course that was when Annis chose to appear. “Oh, my God! Mithian was right, you do you have some sort of choking disorder! Should I call an ambulance?”


	10. La Belle France, at Ealdor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narlth begged me, on behalf of non-French speakers everywhere, to translate the French terms in this chapter... for which, please see the end notes. With especial thanks to aeris444 for all the valuable help in making the French more Français than Franglais! 
> 
> Warning: this chapter - and the French translations in the end notes - describes Uther's enjoyment of meat eating in rather bloodthirsty terms that could make Merlin, as a vegan, feel quite nauseated.

“I’ll have the sirloin please, rare.” After his recent run of ill health, Uther’s voice had regained much of its imperious tone. “Not just _saignant_ , either but properly _bleu_ , please. As you claim to be a French restaurant, perhaps you have finally hired a chef who actually knows what that means. And the meat must be properly rested, of course. But not cold in the middle.” He took a sip of his gin and tonic, the ice clinking merrily against the glass.

“ _Bien sûr, monsieur._ ” The waiter, whose accent was more Portsmouth than Poitiers, commendably did not balk at Uther’s patronising lecture. His name tag stated that he was called George.

“With the peppercorn sauce,” Uther added. There was a happy gleam in his eye as he spoke, one that Arthur had not seen for several months. “And I’ll take the _pommes de terre dauphinoises_. We’ll have a bottle of the _2009 Margaux_ with that. What about you, Arthur? What would you like?”

Sirloin? The wild Alaskan salmon would be a better choice for Uther, who had recently suffered his second heart attack, and had been sternly warned by the cardiologist about the evils of red meat. Arthur opened his mouth to suggest it, but then he looked up and caught the eager, almost puppy-like expression in Uther’s eyes, and closed it again. No doubt poor Uther got enough of that at home, from Morgana, who fed him a diet of steamed vegetables, linseeds, and steamed fish. Constantly. With no let-up.

So, mouth firmly shut, Arthur gazed longingly at the menu, which was littered with little-known cuts of beef. Just looking at their descriptions made his mouth water. A few short months ago, he’d have been debating which sort of steak would squish nicely, spilling out delicious juices when he jabbed his fork into it. But that was before he met Merlin. Now, after Merlin’s most recent lecture on the evils of the mechanised Albion dairy industry, the idea of red meat made him feel vaguely nauseated. It was no good; even as he mentally deliberated on the relative merits of a _filet mignon_ and a _bavette_ , he could just picture Merlin’s beseeching eyes turning all dark with sorrow. “ _How could you?”_ the eyes said. Arthur’s throat constricted in a sudden palpable longing that made his appetite drain away.

He sighed, heavily.

“I’ll just have the, um, _papillote de saumon sauvage au pastis et à l'estragon_ , please,” he said eventually. “With a, um. _Salade verte,_ and _grenailles_. And some sparkling mineral water.” Decision made, he handed the menu back to George. “ _Merci._ ”

 _La Belle France_ was located in Ealdor, a little town a mere twenty minute drive away from Albion, and boasted ostensibly the best steak in the area. The restaurant oozed old world refinement in the same way that its famous _moelleux au chocolat coeur fondant_ oozed delicious, buttery, chocolatey goo. The tables, adorned with immaculate white cloths, hosted an array of sparkling silverware and crystal glasses. Prints of paintings by Klimt and Rousseau decorated the walls. On the other side of the room, a pianist rattled off melancholy French pieces, adding to the restaurant’s _Belle Époque_ feel.

By coming all the way to Ealdor, Arthur and Uther were not hiding, exactly. It was just nice to have some private father and son time, which by mutual tacit agreement just happened to be in a neighbouring town, far away from the prying eyes of Arthur’s employees, Arthur’s competitors, and, above all, of Morgana’s disapproving glare. Uther always took this monthly opportunity to indulge in all his favourite gout-inducing foods. As Arthur reasoned, if the pompous old boy didn’t have long to live, he might as well indulge before he finally popped his clogs.

Morgana, of course, was of an entirely different view. If she were here to witness Uther’s evident gluttony, she'd have apoplexy on the spot. Or, at least cause the sort of unpleasant scene that, in Arthur’s view, would be more dangerous to Uther’s health than a whole herd of pedigree Hereford grass-fed cattle.

“I’ll also have a side dish of _haricots verts gratinés au beurre truffé,_ " Uther added, tucking his napkin inelegantly into his collar, and rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation.

As George bowed and scuttled off to deal with their order, Arthur found himself privately hoping that Uther had a good supply of Gaviscon at home.

“Now, Arthur,” Uther added, his face becoming serious in a way that made Arthur’s heart sink, because like a bad omen, this expression generally presaged doom and pain. “Tell me. How is the campaign against Vortigern going?”

“It’s going well, I think,” said Arthur, taking a sip of his drink. Acidic cold, with a sharp, botanical kick, flooded his mouth. “Most of the local businesses have joined our consortium. There’s a public meeting coming up soon, we’ll all be raising our objections to the the local council planning committee there.”

“Would you care to taste the wine, sir?” murmured George, who was hovering by Uther’s elbow, bearing a dusty-looking bottle wrapped in a pristine white teacloth.

“Yes, yes.” Uther waved him forward.

George made a show of opening the bottle and poured a trickle into Uther’s glass, then stepped back in attentive expectation.

“You must be careful, Arthur. Vortigern has probably bought several people on the committee. Some of the committee are freemasons, though. I can ask around at the lodge.” Uther swirled the wine around his glass and buried his nose into it, taking a large sniff. “Mmm, yes, that’s fine. It could do with breathing for a bit, see to it.”

“ _Tout de suite, monsieur_.” Bowing, George backed away, still clutching the bottle.

“Please don’t, thank you, father.” Arthur frowned. He wasn’t happy about using Uther’s old boy network to try to get the council to do its job. “I don’t think that will be necessary. We have a watertight case to present against Dragonbucks and their plans. The majority of the townsfolk are against them. I intend to proceed in an open, fair and democratic way, at a public meeting.”

“You always were a bloody idealistic fool.” Uther’s eyes narrowed and his brow puckered in disapproval. His lips turned down into a sour line that brought back painful childhood memories of scoldings and the heavy weight of Uther’s frequent fault-finding. “You’re being naive if you don’t think Vortigern will play dirty.”

“So be it.” Closing his eyes, Arthur swallowed away his sudden pain at the criticism, which despite the years, still had the power to bite hard. He would not let it sway him, though. He had expected this argument, but he hated the unfairness of the lattice of old school ties that permeated Albion’s culture and allowed wolves like Vortigern to thrive. “I refuse to stoop to bribery and patronage.”

“Your stupid ideals will lose Ygraine’s coffee shop forever, if you’re not careful.” Uther ploughed on, relentless as he had always been, in the boardroom and at home. “Have you even considered your strategy? Who is on your side? Who can you win over, and how?”

“I have identified strategic partners on the planning committee,” said Arthur, clenching his jaw to control his breathing, hand wrapped tight around his glass so that the knuckles whitened. “And we have had discussions of mutual interest. I can assure you that I have this in hand.” Piss off, you meddling old rogue, he added, mentally.

“Hmm.” Uther sounded unconvinced. He took a swig of his gin, expression unreadable as he regarded Arthur through heavy-lidded eyes. “And what is this that I hear about a malicious reviewer for the cafe?”

Surprised, Arthur sucked in a breath. It was a classic Pendragon tactic, destabilising someone with sudden sideswiping question from another direction entirely, and one that Arthur should have been better prepared for. He lifted his gin and tonic to his lips, to buy time. But he hadn’t got beyond clearing his throat before Uther’s eyes widened and he broke into a beaming smile, gazing over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Why, if it isn’t Gaius!” said Uther, pushing to his feet and extending his arm for a handshake. “How are you, old friend?”

Arthur turned, expecting to see one of Uther’s old business friends.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Uther Pendragon!” The old man that his father had greeted looked vaguely familiar, with his cascading white hair and face full of wrinkles. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your companion, unless, wait, could it be? No! Goodness me, it can’t be your son, Arthur? My, how you’ve grown, when I last saw you, you were this high--”

But Gaius was not alone. Just as Arthur started to reply, he suddenly noticed a familiar shock of black hair on Gaius’s companion. Attached to a slender body and startled-looking pair of blue eyes.

Forgetting that he’d just taken a sip of his drink, Arthur inhaled sharply. Lime juice, juniper, quinine and bubbles assaulted his nostrils and went all down his throat, making him choke. He doubled over, coughing, as froth escaped in a sorry, fruity, mess that drenched the front of his shirt and his favourite red tie.

“This is my grand-nephew, Merlin, helping me to celebrate my birthday,” Gaius went on, sweeping his hand out wide to pull a reluctant-looking Merlin into the little group. “Merlin, this is my old friend, Uther, and his son, Arthur. You must be about the same age... Goodness me, are you all right, Arthur?”

“Fine, fine,” wheezed Arthur, pulling out his handkerchief, burying his mouth in it, as much to hide his flaming face as anything else, while someone thumped him gently on the back. “Frog in my throat.” Gasping for air, he started to dab at the wet patches on his chest.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Merlin,” said Uther, shaking Merlin’s hand. “Gaius has told me so much about you. He is very proud of you, that I do know. He did enjoy accompanying you on that _Proud_ march he went on last year! Do you know, I’ve half a mind to come along myself, this year?” He let out a jovial laugh. “If my doctor will let me, of course!”

 _Proud_ march? While the three of them laughed dutifully along with Uther’s uproarious guffaw, it took a second or two for the penny to drop. Did Uther mean…? He couldn’t mean _Pride_ , could he? Surely? The sudden unbidden mental image of staid old Uther, immaculately dressed in a bespoke lounge suit with tie, at Albion’s LGBT+ Pride parade, surrounded by laughing, gaily dressed people of every gender and sexual preference, made Arthur’s cough return, even worse than before. He grabbed a glass of water off the table and swallowed it practically in one gulp, spilling half of it down his already wet shirt, while three pairs of concerned eyes swam in and out of view.

“Arthur!” said Uther, sternly. “Goodness me, I do apologise for my son’s manners. Arthur!”

“Sorry, sorry! Nice to meet you, again, Gaius.” Arthur managed to choke out, at last, as he extended one hand to shake Gaius’s bony one.

“Likewise, my boy.” Gaius twinkled at him from beneath raised brows.

“And. Um. Hi, um, Merlin, how are you?” As he grasped Merlin’s hand, with its long, skilful fingers, he couldn’t help clutching it between both of his own, in a shake that went on for a moment longer than originally intended, because it was just so nice to have that contact after a whole week of missing Merlin horribly. Not that he’d ever admit that last bit to Merlin’s face of course. And just what was it about Merlin that kept making him erupt into terrible coughing fits? He really couldn’t explain, but it was beginning to get a bit out of control. Anyway, wasn’t Merlin meant to be sick? He continued with the handshake, examining Merlin through bleary eyes. Merlin was dressed in an uncharacteristically formal outfit of a slim-fit shirt and pressed chinos, which hugged his slight frame beautifully, and really accentuated the taut muscles that hid beneath the fabric. “I thought you had a hernia!” Arthur added, releasing Merlin’s hand, voice still husky from all the coughing. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”

“Well.” Merlin quirked his head on one side as if in appraisal and his eyes raked Arthur’s gin-drenched shirt. “I wasn’t, until a moment ago, as it happens, quite lost my appetite, haha. But, um. Funnily enough, I do feel a bit better all of a sudden...” He bit his lip.

“You two know each other?” said Uther.

“Yes, um, well, Merlin works at Camelot, Father. He’s been a bit poorly, but...” Arthur shrugged, unable to tear his gaze away from Merlin’s face. Merlin’s beard was neatly trimmed, this evening, and his unruly hair tamed into a side parting that lent him a debonair and slightly louche grace, like a 1930s lounge lizard. Eyeing this enticing sight with a deep sense of approval and gratitude, Arthur took another sip of his gin, before adding in a hoarse whisper, “he, um... looks, um… a lot better!”

Arthur wasn’t kidding. With his dapper outfit and his carefully groomed hair, Merlin was indeed looking a hell of a lot better! Words like _hell, yeah!_ , and _fucking edible_ sprang to Arthur’s mind. Followed swiftly by a whole load of other words, words that in his slightly gin-befuddled, and muchly lust-addled state Arthur wasn’t sure actually existed. Words like shagtastic, and fuckable, and, and… and… debauchworthy.

Was there a scale of fuckability? thought Arthur, almost hysterically. A unit, like a centifuck, or a millifuck, or, or… or...a megafuck. A fuck-o-scope, to measure this quality? If such a thing existed, it would currently be flashing red and going round and round in loopy circles like in one of those 1960s Batman cartoons. _Kapow!_

“It’s good to see you, Arthur.” Merlin’s eyes flicked down towards Arthur’s wet shirt and then back again, eyebrows rising in a surprised-looking, upturned v-shape. He bit his lip, eyes softening. “Gosh. Well, I wasn't expecting to see you in Ealdor, my mum lives here, see! We're meeting her here, haha. And my great-uncle, obviously. So, it's nice but a bit unexpected bumping into you. But, well, You look. Um. _Well._ Too. As well, I mean. As in, also. And also as in, very, um... _well_. As in, healthy, I mean. Haha. You know.” He coughed and looked away. The trimmed beard did not hide the faint blush that crept up his cheeks, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the deep, almost opal blue of his eyes.

“Thanks,” croaked Arthur. “Well. Um. I hope you, you know. Have a nice evening.” Smooth, Arthur. Smooth.

“Ahem!” A discreet cough heralded George’s arrival back at their table. “ _Vos diners sont prêts, messieurs…_ ”

“Right, right.” As they sat back down, Arthur watched Merlin thread his way through the dense maze of tables and chairs to his own dining location. The taut globes of Merlin’s arse were agreeably silhouetted by the tight, pressed chinos that he wore… Arthur’s mouth went quite dry.

“Ahem.” Another throat clearance, this time from Uther, brought Arthur’s head swinging back to the present.

“So.” Uther’s mouth was shrewd and his eyes unreadable, but there was a gentle quality to his voice that Arthur had not heard for a while. “Arthur. My son. I am not blind. Is there something you want to tell me? About this boy?”

Arthur sighed. He hadn’t expected this moment to arrive, not tonight, but to be honest, why the hell not? It had to happen some time. But nevertheless his heart was beating out an enthusiastic drum-roll as he moistened his lips in preparation for speaking.

“Ah, yes, Father,” he said, lifting his jaw proudly. “There is indeed something I need to discuss with you. Because, the fact is, Father...”

Uther hummed encouragingly.

In the end, in reality, it was much simpler than he’d always blown it up to be, in his head. In the end, they were just words, after all.

“The fact is, Father,” Arthur repeated, smiling at the simplicity of it, “that I am bisexual, and I have fallen in love with another man. With Merlin. I love him, Father.”

 _Love._ The word bloomed, sweet on his tongue.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Uther’s face split into a smile of such unexpected warmth that Arthur almost choked again. He lifted his glass, which had somehow miraculously become full of claret, and chinked it against Arthur’s. “Congratulations, my son. I’m so proud of you. And now? Now, we really have something to celebrate.”

“Thank you, Father.” Arthur beamed back at him. Of all the reactions he’d imagined Uther having to his sexuality, this was the most benign. “I wish I’d told you before, but I was worried.”

“I know I can be an intimidating man,” said Uther, face falling. “I’m sorry for that. And in the past, well, maybe you were right to be concerned about my reaction? But let’s just say that my recent ill health has given me a certain… perspective on life. You are my only son, Arthur. I just want you to be happy. And if this man makes you happy, then, that makes me happy too.”

“I think he can. Make me happy, I mean. Or rather, he could.” But Arthur’s face fell when he remembered. “But I’ve screwed it up, Father.”

“With him? Hardly.” Uther snorted. “If anything, he looked even more besotted than you. When you spilled your drink down your shirt, it made it quite see-through. I thought the poor boy’s eyes would pop out of his head altogether!”

“He’s my employee, Father!” Arthur hissed. “I can’t…”

“Don’t be foolish, Arthur.” Uther started to cut into his steak. “Nobody remains an employee forever. There is a perfectly simple solution to your non-existent problem. See to it.” He popped a large piece of meat into his mouth and started to chew. “Mmm. This steak is perfectly cooked. Exquisitely tender. Now shut up, and let me eat it, before Morgana somehow finds out that red meat is on the menu here and puts a stop to it.”

“Of course, Father.” Biting his lip to hide the complicated tangle of emotions that Uther’s comments had unleashed, Arthur unravelled the package that contained his salmon and inhaled the delicately mingled aromas that escaped with the steam.

So. He’d seen Merlin, and he’d come out to his father. As a bonus, the old boy had not shown any signs of apoplexy. Perhaps this evening’s dinner wouldn’t be so bad, after all? With a sudden sense of being off the hook, he took a quick sip of the claret. It didn't really go with the salmon, but it was delicious, of course.

“And then we can discuss your strategy for dealing with this malicious blogger,” added Uther, burying his nose in his wine glass and taking a generous swig.

Huh. Heart sinking, Arthur gave his dinner a vicious poke with his fork. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of French terms used in this chapter... (with apologies to actual French people for any mistakes)  
>  _saignant_ : rare (literal: bloody)  
>  _bleu_ : so rare that the poor animal is practically still mooing (literal: blue)  
>  _pommes de terre dauphinoises_ : finely sliced layers of potato in a creamy sauce with cheese and butter... otherwise known, in our household, as "cheesy 'tato"  
>  _filet mignon, bavette_ : prime cuts of beef steak  
>  _papillote de saumon sauvage au pastis et à l'estragon_ : wild salmon baked in parchment with anise-flavoured licqueur and tarragon  
>  _salade verte_ : green salad  
>  _grenailles_ : roasted new potatoes  
>  _moelleux au chocolat coeur fondant_ : molten chocolate lava cake  
>  _haricots verts gratinés au beurre truffé_ : green beans in a creamy, cheesy sauce with truffle butter  
>  _tout de suite, monsieur_ : straight away, sir  
>  _vos diners sont prêts, messieurs_ : Your dinners are ready, sirs


	11. Camelot Coffee: At Last!

With the keys to the Camelot Coffee van held between his teeth, Arthur backed through the door of his shop, using his bum to depress the door handle and then carefully reversing up the step. Safely inside, he turned around, keeping the stacked cake boxes, which were piled so high that he could not quite see over the top, completely flat. The lights were still off, and the blinds were down, so it was rather dark inside. But once the bell had stopped jingling, he could just about hear the gentle hum which meant that Excalibur was switched on. Either Elyan or Gwaine was definitely there, already, which explained why the door was unlocked.

“Elyan?” he shouted through his clenched teeth. “Gwaine? Could you give me a hand? I can’t see a thi—”

A firm pair of hands grasped the top three boxes. “Here, let me!”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s keys dropped from his mouth. He gaped over the top of a fragrant tray of vegan cinnamon-maple-and-pecan buns. From now on, the scent of cinnamon would forever remind him of a pair of startled blue eyes. Joy welled up in his chest. He beamed. “You’re back! Look! I’ve got vegan cakes. But, shit, I dropped the keys.”

Merlin’s beard was scruffy today, and his hair unkempt, as if he’d tugged it into untidy tufts. His eyes were a little sunken and his skin, what was visible of it, looked pale.

“Are you feeling okay?” Arthur blurted, hit by sudden concern. “Are you sure you’re ready to come back to work?”

“Um. Yeah, I’m fine,” Merlin smiled back wanly, although his voice did sound a bit off, come to mention it, and he was looking decidedly peaky. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” But then his smile drooped and he turned away. “I just - oh, well. I’ll put these out on display, shall I?”

“Okay.” Arthur swallowed, putting down his boxes on a nearby table, and a part of him, flooded with affection upon the sight of the familiar droop of Merlin’s left shoulder, started shouting at another part, which advised him against fraternising with staff. Which was all very confusing, so it was no surprise that he stumbled over his words as he bent to retrieve his keys. “I - erm. I missed, well. It’s nice to, erm. You know. Have you. Erm. Back, I mean.”

Straightening up, he cleared his throat. His legs felt a bit wobbly, as if he was standing on shaky ground, and he looked away, drawing in some deep breaths, thinking cold thoughts in an ultimately futile attempt to dampen the heat that was spreading across his face. He put his keys on the table and picked up the cake boxes again before looking back.

When he turned back, Merlin, who was staring directly at him, looked away, his face turning a delicate shade of pink that emphasized his cheekbones.

Arthur couldn’t help staring. He cleared his throat again, which made him cough.

“Oh! Erm. Thanks.” Merlin’s mouth twisted and he glanced down at the floor, then up to the ceiling. “I’ve, erm. Well. Missed y— I mean this. You know. As well. I mean. Haha! Anyway, It’s nice to be back. Um. Hey, have you got a bit of a cough?”

“Erm, no,” rasped Arthur. “Not really. Ahem.”

But it was no good, his frantic throat-clearing had led him into another coughing fit. He grabbed a glass from the sink at the back of the shop, and took a good swig, willing his ridiculous body to stop over-reacting.

“You might want to get that looked at.” Meanwhile, Merlin bent forward and started unloading the buns onto the display. “This is a coffee shop, not a cough-ey shop. Cough-ee? Geddit? Haha.”

“Oh, very funny, Merlin.” This was much more solid ground. Arthur’s legs started to revive. Relieved, he strode across to place the remaining boxes on the clean countertop.

And then, suddenly, they were facing each other, empty handed, beside the countertop. Their eyes met. Arthur’s heart was starting to fill with something extremely dangerous and painful, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it.

“Oh sod it,” said Merlin, with a tilt of his head and an abrupt dart forward.

Suddenly moist lips were gentling Arthur’s, and those hairs around Merlin’s mouth were soft on Arthur’s chin and cheeks, and the annoying part of Arthur’s brain that had a tendency to shout distracting things like _harassment_ and _power imbalance_ and _respectfulness in the workplace_ at inopportune moments fell suddenly silent, probably due to a lack of oxygen to the brain or something. Merlin tasted of cinnamon, of course he did. Spicy and clean and enticing and delicious, with a sweet tang of fruit. It was a good thing that Arthur didn’t need to speak, because the warm press of Merlin’s compact, lithe body against his left him quite breathless. Hence the lack of oxygen.  

“Stop thinking so hard.” It was Merlin who finally broke the kiss. “I can hear you from here.”

“I, erm.” Arthur croaked out some sounds, they couldn’t really be construed as words, exactly. “Wow.” He licked his lips.

“God!” Merlin’s eyes were intent, his mouth pursed, so that a tantalising dimple came and went by his chin, clumping up the beard hairs into a little knot, and he was breathing hard, his chest heaving as if he had just been for a long run, or marathon sex, oh God, lalalala. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous... I’ve been wanting to do that for so long, you have no idea.”

“Me too,” whispered Arthur.

“The thing is,” said Merlin, shaking his head slowly. “The bloody annoying thing about you, Arthur, I mean, is that you won’t do something that you think might be remotely dishonourable. And the bloody annoying thing about me is… is… it’s just that I appreciate that about you, you see. It’s as much part of you as, you know, the whole clotpole thing you’ve got going on, with that unfairly beautiful face, and that gorgeous arse, and that sort of old fashioned nobility, and... and, the jaw. Stupid craggy jaw thing. It’s just wrong, that’s what it is. And I can’t bear it, really, it’s all too much. But I can’t bear to be without you either, and something’s got to give, Arthur. I, um. I think, perhaps… I’d better resign.”

“No!” Arthur wanted to say. And “Don’t leave me!” and “I need you!” Because the very thought of spending his days at the shop, filling endless cups with frothy milk, and exchanging small talk with the good people of Albion, without the leavening effect of Merlin’s banter and his warmth and his damn cheekbones, the very thought of it made his throat close and clam up.

Merlin’s lips drooped at the corners, and a tragic line appeared between his brows.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, and his shoulders sagged as he started to turn.

“Wait!” Arthur said, hoarsely. He took a step forward, and another, until they were facing each other. “I, um.”

 _No! I don’t accept,_ his brain screamed. _You have to stay here because otherwise my life will be unbearable and humdrum. I’ll yell at the customers. They’ll write crappy reviews. Worst of all, little pieces of my heart will go missing._ But he couldn’t say all that.

“I accept your resignation, Merlin,” he said, instead. “On one condition.”

“Which is?” there was a tiny, hopeful upwards twitch to Merlin’s lips.

“That you carry on doing this.” He grasped both of Merlin’s hands, and tilted his head to capture Merlin’s lips in a bruising kiss that left no doubts about his intentions.

“Arthur.” Merlin breathed his name in a soft exhale that gusted along the skin of Arthur’s cheeks.

Arthur nuzzled his lips against Merlin’s revelling in their soft heat. A tiny noise escaped him, he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long for this, and it felt so perfect. The long slide of Merlin’s thighs against his, hot and hard and dangerous, made his pulse quicken. Merlin’s lips, his lovely, lovely lips, so pink and so soft, so tantalising, framed as they were by thick, lush hairs that parted to let Arthur push in further. Suddenly, wanting _more_ , he was crowding Merlin against the counter, gasping out loud as the heat of Merlin’s crotch pushed against his. Merlin’s hand was clasped hard against the swell of Arthur’s bum, and his breath came in tiny sibilant pants, almost as if he was in pain.

“God, Arthur,” Merlin whispered, hips canting until their tense rubbing threatened to push Arthur over the edge. “God. Your mouth. Your _mouth_!”

Just then, the door jingled, heralding the arrival of a customer. They sprang apart.

“Mordred!” Heart hammering, Arthur jammed his hands deep into his pockets to pull the material of his jeans away from his hefty, obvious erection. “Um, I, that is.” A painful, mortified blush sent heat flooding his throat and cheeks.

“We’re closed!” said Merlin, shortly, eyes hooded and dark as he pushed past Arthur to grab Mordred’s arm and usher him towards the door.

Genius! As well as being a minx, and an expert kisser with lips of velvet and a tongue like a bloody corkscrew, Merlin was a complete genius! Closed! Of course they were! How come Arthur hadn’t thought of that? Sex-addled, his brain was, of course. Filled with lust and inappropriate thoughts about Merlin’s lips and his beard and his teasing tongue, and dammit, that sort of train of thought was not going to do anything to ease Arthur’s trouserly discomfort any time soon. Dammit

“I bet you are,” hissed Mordred, his mouth set into a tight, spiteful line. “There was me was hoping for a cheeky cappuccino from my favouri—”

“Ahahaha, very funny,” said Merlin, with an unamused frown. Damn it if this intent, non-nonsense version of Merlin wasn’t even more alluring than the previous, more happy-go-lucky one. “Now get out.”

“You heard what he said.” Arthur sent what he hoped was his best glare towards the intruder. “Now, please leave.” He stepped forward to grab Mordred’s other arm. “We open in half an hour.”

“All right, all right!” Mordred shook Arthur’s arm off. “I was going anyway!” As he stepped out onto the pavement, he turned, opening his mouth to deliver some parting shot. Something familiar glittered at his throat.

“Wait a minute,” said Arthur, recognising it. “Merlin, isn’t that your missi—”

But Merlin had beaten him to it.

“That’s my fucking pendant, you little weasel!” yelled Merlin, dashing out onto the street. “Give it back!”

Mordred wasted no time taking off at a run, with Merlin close on his heels. But not close enough, because he returned a few minutes later, pink and panting, but empty handed.

“Bastard got away from me,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair so that it stuck up in messy tufts that Arthur itched to tame. “He must have stolen it somehow on that night when we got pissed. Damn!”

“Well, there’s one silver lining” said Arthur, stepping closer and drawing Merlin up the stairs into the shop, tapping it closed behind them with his heel. “He won’t dare come in here again, now, will he?”

“Huh.” Merlin tilted his head on one side and eyed Arthur’s mouth appraisingly. “That’s no comfort to me, now that I’ve resigned.” He placed both hands on Arthur’s forearms, and backed away towards the countertop, tugged Arthur gently along in his wake. “I’m devastated. I’ll need comforting. A lot of comforting. Very, very comfortable comforting.”

“He won’t be in a hurry to encounter you anywhere, dimbulb,” purred Arthur, crowding Merlin against the glass display case. “Unlike me. Now, devastated, you say? What exactly can I do to cheer you up?”

“Hmm.” Merlin smiled, making his eyes sparkle. “I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

“Mmm?” Grinning, Arthur ran eager fingers down the length of Merlin’s torso and rested them beneath the waistband of his faded jeans. “Do elaborate!”

“But they might have to wait until the shop closes.” With a shimmy of his hips, Merlin slid out from Arthur’s grasp and nodded towards the closed door.

Beneath the blinds that obscured the majority of the street, Arthur could see a number of pairs of shuffling feet. A queue of Camelot’s more caffeine-deprived citizens was already beginning to develop.

“Damn.” Arthur reached for his apron. “Why do I have to be so professional?”

 


	12. Um... Somewhere in Albion, There is a Bed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does descend into smut. Because the author felt like it. Please feel free to skip if that's not your thing!

“Um. Gwen?” Arthur was trying to whisper into the phone, but his voice came out in a sort of strangled croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again, clutching his phone tightly. “Gwen? It’s me!”

“I know that, Arthur.” Her voice was less cold and more patient than he’d expected, given the ungodly hour, but it wasn’t exactly warm either. “What I don’t know is why you’re calling me at two in the morning!”

Arthur hadn’t wanted to disturb her, really he hadn’t, but he’d racked his brains for other options, and this was really the only viable one. Because he’d waited so long for this, so very long, and now that he finally had Merlin where he wanted him - in his actual bed - he found that he really didn’t want to have to leave it. Ever. Or at least, not for something so trivial as actual work.

“Um. Look, I’m really sorry, but I…” his voice trailed off and he swallowed, losing his train of thought.

Which was all Merlin’s fault really, for choosing that moment to turn in his sleep and stretch, so that the duvet fell from his torso, revealing a pale expanse of skin, held tautly across finely defined muscles. The line of the bedcover draped across Merlin's crotch. A dark trail of hair dived beneath. The small movement awakened recent memories. Memories so recent that the glow of them still marked Merlin’s skin in places. Memories that made Arthur’s heart thump wildly, and his mouth go dry, and that filled him with a sudden sense of longing so powerful that he could hardly speak.

“I… um. Gosh.” He bit his lip, forcing himself to breathe in deeply through his nose. A heady smell flooded his nostrils, a reminder of all that had passed, and an unspoken invitation for what was to come. “Um. Family emergency.”

“Get on with it, Arthur,” Gwen said, sharply. “I have important sleeping to do. Now what in hell is the emergency?”

He looked down at his bed, and his fingers went limp, nearly making him drop his phone. God! Merlin was just lying there, blinking sleepily, all warm and rumpled, his hair stark black against the white of the pillowcase. A sudden stab of arousal punched at Arthur’s gut. God! That settled it! There was no way that Arthur could leave him in the morning to go to work, it would literally kill him.

Hence the emergency.

“Oh, no!” Gwen’s voice softened. “Of course I’ll help out. When do you need me? Lance will be fine for a day or two without me! What’s happened? Is it Uther? Or Morgana? Are they okay?”

Arthur swallowed miserably as he realised that, when he came to it, he couldn’t actually lie to her.

“Um. No, Gwen,” he whispered. “No, actually, um, it’s not bad news, at all. It’s me. It’s me and… it’s me and Merlin. I...he… it’s just that we finally… and I can’t... “

His voice cracked, and he realised that he sounded a bit hysterical, because Merlin was fully awake now, and his lips were rising in a sly grin that pulled up his beard and made his eyes disappear into tiny joyful half-moons. The moonlight that streamed in through the window was touching his cheeks, and Arthur _wanted_ , oh how he wanted...

“I just want…” he added, brokenly.

“Ohhhh!” she replied, drawing out the long syllable. “I see! Well, finally. Thank God for that. The two of you were driving us all bonkers making cow eyes at one another.”

“I do not make cow eyes!” objected Arthur, indignant.

Merlin sniggered, and reached out with one hand to brush Arthur’s hair from his face, letting his long fingers rest in Arthur’s mouth, drawing around the line of Arthur’s lips and moistening them on Arthur’s tongue. Slowly, tantalisingly, he slid the wet backs of his fingers down Arthur’s neck and throat, towards his chest. Licking his lips, Arthur tasted salt and the lingering remnants of their earlier play, and he shivered at Merlin’s touch, suddenly achingly aroused at the memory.

“Oh, yes you do,” she replied. "I suppose you want me to cover for you tomorrow?" 

"Um." Whatever it was that Merlin’s blunt thumbs were now doing to Arthur’s nipples robbed him of both thought and speech for a moment.

“All right,” Gwen said. “You, of all people, deserve a day off, Arthur. I’ll do it.”

“Oh, God.” Arthur felt as if a huge weight had lifted from his chest. “Thank you so much, Gwen, you have no idea how gra--!”

“Now shut up and let me sleep!” she added. “And I’m not going to make a habit of doing your shift for you every time you want to shag, so, whatever you do, make this time count!”

“Oh, Gwen, thank you. And, really, don’t worry,” he said, his voice thickening even as Merlin’s hand whispered further down his body. “I definitely will.”

“Too much information!”

Thankfully she chose that moment to ring off, because the heavy groan that Arthur let out when Merlin’s hand finally cupped his balls was really not something that any employee should be forced to hear over the phone at two in the morning.

“You absolute tease.” Arthur let his phone fall to the ground.

“What, me?” Merlin, grin widening, abruptly flipped them both across the bed, so that Arthur lay upon his back, naked upon the duvet, with Merlin staring down at him, eyes hooded and intent.

“Looks like we’ve got the day off tomorrow,” said Arthur, with a smug grin. “I promised Gwen that we wouldn’t waste it.”

“We should always be true to our promises, Arthur,” Merlin nodded, swinging one leg across to straddle Arthur’s body, shaking the fabric of the duvet off as his weight settled upon Arthur’s hips. "That's very serious."

“Absolutely.” Arthur swallowed when he saw that the stark line of Merlin’s arousal echoed his own.

“Well,” said Merlin, cocking his head on one side as if in contemplation. “Now it’s time for me to fulfil the one I made to you a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh, God.” Remembering the context for the promise, Arthur couldn’t help moaning out loud. “Oh, fuck, yes. Please. That. Please.” He flexed his hips to emphasize his words.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” said Merlin, hoarsely, eyes heavy-lidded. He licked his lips.

“Oh, God, just stop talking and bloody well suck me off,” groaned Arthur, banging his head against the pillow in mock frustration.

“God, look at you.” Merlin shook his head. “So beautiful, and so horny for me. Whatever did I do to get this lucky?”

Merlin’s eyes raked Arthur’s body, appreciatively. Followed by his hands and finally, most wonderfully of all, his mouth.

The gentle friction of Merlin’s beard upon his skin, the press of those plump lips, his clever tongue, were everything that Arthur had dreamed of, and more. So much more. Arthur buried his fingers in the shock of hair upon Merlin’s head, and willed himself to breathe.

 


	13. Albion Town Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, finally, it is done! Thank you so much to those of you who have stuck with the boys on this long, coffee-fuelled and slightly frustrating journey! You make it all worth while.

As the date for the public hearing drew near, Albion’s anti-Vortigern website and poster campaign reached a climax. But they couldn’t afford to become complacent. Dark forces were at work against them - dark forces that had scheduled the planning hearing at seven thirty on a Friday night, when most of Albion’s finest would normally be in The Rising Sun, inflicting pain upon their livers with Alice’s famous, locally brewed cider.

It didn’t help that someone kept stealing their posters.

“I wish they’d stop taking them down.” Merlin waved towards the blank spot where one such poster had recently been. “I mean, I know that Percy’s got nice arms, but at this rate we’ll have to do another print run.”

“It’s all good publicity.” Gwaine was unperturbed.

Initially, when the posters started going missing, they’d thought that it was sabotage, but then one of Gwaine’s customers had explained that there was quite a local cult growing up around Elena’s new barman, who featured, sleeveless, in a prominent position on the poster, muscles rippling. Of course, inquisitiveness being his second name, Gwaine had gone to investigate for himself. Being of a rather... ahem... persuasive nature, Gwaine quickly got Percival on board with the campaign. And other things besides, as Arthur had come to find out over the last few weeks of close proximity to Gwaine (and by extension, Percival) either at Merlin’s flat or in Arthur’s shop.  

“Anyway, lucky for us, your great-uncle runs a print business.” Arthur nudged Merlin, in response to which, Merlin feigned an exaggerated stumble and mouthed the word “prat” at him. But his face lit up in a bashful grin, which made warmth steal through Arthur’s chest.

“Come on!” Gwaine flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Don’t be downhearted! There are more of us than them. We can completely photobomb this place. Let’s get some more of these up.”

“This is definitely not the kind of activity I had in mind for Saturday mornings with my new boyfriend,” grumbled Merlin.

“Stop moaning,” said Gwaine, grinning. “You’ll have plenty of time for shagging the princess later. But right now, we’ve got work to do. Chop, chop! The quicker we get this done, the quicker I can show Percival my appreciation. Know what I mean?” He winked. “Say no more!”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but turned back to the noticeboard and extracted another poster from his satchel, thumbing the drawing pins to fix it in place.

After an initial rocky start, the Council of Five Coffee Shops had really bedded in nicely in recent weeks. Arthur put this down to sensible choices of representative. Thus, Gawant was now represented by poster-boy, Percival. For Ne’m’eth was Merlin, who recently swapped jobs with Gwaine. Much to everyone's surprise, Gwaine, sitting in for Camelot, was an expert at chivvying everyone to get things done. Arthur chaired the committee, while Leon represented Caerleon, and Morgause, Essetir. Elyan had agreed to take notes.

The posters had been a joint effort, really - Gwen took the photo, of all the committee members standing in a row, and then Elena used her mad photoshop skills to superimpose them onto a picture of a decapitated dragon lying in a pool of coffee. The caption read “Albion’s Dragonslayers! Fighting corporate blandness - one coffee shop at a time.”

By the time the day of the public meeting dawned, the local press campaign had gained a lot of momentum, and Albion Town Hall was packed to the rafters with independent traders, market stallholders, and coffee shop owners.

Arthur and Merlin made their way to the table hosting the panel and waited for the others to arrive. The room was packed. Gwaine had cajoled locals in from all the local hostelries, using some kind of arcane bribe. Arthur could not quite work out how Gwaine had done it, couldn’t help worrying that it might be something dodgy. Even so, he couldn’t help grinning when Gwaine entered the hall, caught Arthur’s eye and lifted both thumbs.

All became clear a few minutes later, when there was a sudden commotion. Catcalls, wolf-whistles, and high-pitched squealing filled the air. Puzzled, Arthur looked around. A cluster of excitable young women, and a few young men, crowded around the door, clutching what, when he looked closely, he could just about discern were campaign posters. Head and shoulders above the lot, Percival ploughed through them, his face a bashful pink, pausing occasionally to sign copies with a black permanent marker.

“It seems that our Percival has developed quite the following,” said Arthur with a chuckle.

“I can see why,” murmured Merlin out of the side of his mouth.   

Arthur scowled, albeit for show.

“Oh don’t be such a jealous old meanie,” said Merlin, punching Arthur gently on the upper arm. “You know I like your muscles more than his. Well, one of them, anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur contemplated Merlin’s cheeky grin for a moment before grabbing him to go in for the tickle. “You like them all. Go on, admit it.” He burrowed the fingers of his right hand beneath Merlin’s armpit. “I’ll tickle you until you do.”

“Mercy!” laughed Merlin, struggling under Arthur’s grip. His slim body belied his strength; he could probably throw Arthur off without trying very hard, but he doubled over instead, squirming and giggling. “You great bully! Help! Help!”

“Put him down, little brother.” Morgana’s words cut through Arthur’s enjoyment. “We have important business to do, today. Gwen and I wanted to talk to you before the meeting.”

She was right, of course, which didn’t mean that he had to like it. Still, they were here to do a job. Merlin’s very important tickle could wait until later. Sobering, he let Merlin go and turned to follow Morgana and the others into a side room, where they sat and whispered through their strategy.

The hall had filled up by the time that they had returned from their huddle. The planning committee, chaired by Isolde Raison, had taken their seats upon the stage. As Arthur and the rest of the Council of Five also took their seats, a hush fell over the scene, punctuated only by a few stray cries of “We love you, Percy!”

After a lengthy preamble and set of introductions, Isolde bashed the table with her gavel and called for order, and the session began.

First on the agenda was a speech by Vortigern himself. The man was clean shaven, with his thinning hair drawn into a sharp widow’s peak upon his forehead. This surprised Arthur, who had expected him to look like a bear. Sitting next to him, was a familiar-looking narrow-lipped, tousle-headed figure. Arthur started when he realised who it was. Mordred! He opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin beat him to it.

“You!” Merlin stood, pointing at the man with a shaking finger. “You dare to set foot in here, you nasty little thief.”

“You’ll change your tune when my grandfather—” said Mordred, with an ugly sneer.  

“Why, you sneaky little—” began Arthur at the same time.

“Hush, Mordred!” said Vortigern, eyes wide.

Grandfather? Well, that explained a lot!

“I will have order!” interrupted Isolde, sternly. “Mr Pendragon, You will have a chance to speak later. Mr Vortigern White will now present to the planning committee the case for the redevelopment of the old police station into a new branch of Dragonbucks. Go on with your presentation, Mr White.”

Vortigern stared at Merlin from under his brows, and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Albion,” he said, drawing his hand out expansively to indicate the people in the room. “I realise that this town is a place with immense character and charm, so I’m not here to placate or persuade you!”  However, the slick marketing presentation that followed attempted to do exactly that.

In a speech that made up in tedium for what it lacked in substance, Vortigern waffled on and on about new jobs, attracting people to the town, the advantages of diversity, yadda yadda. As Mordred smirked, and Vortigern droned, Arthur found himself drifting off into idle fantasy. He was just getting to the bit where a red dragon and a white dragon, having had a quick discussion, stopped fighting each other and teamed up to attack Vortigern and the smug Mordred instead, when a sharp jab to his ribs lifted him out of his reverie with a jump.

“Shh. You were snoring.” Morgana glared at him, lips folded into a tight moue.

Luckily for the Council of Five, though, the people of the town did not appear to be fooled by Vortigern’s smooth manner.

“Local vibrancy, strong sense of community, a sense of coming together—” he said, declaiming to the ceiling, hand upon his heart as if he was a Roman orator, not a pompous, greedy little business owner with no originality and a slightly frayed tie.

“Get on with it, you slimy git!” yelled a male voice from the back of the room, to much laughter.

 “Ahem.” Vortigern frowned and looked at his notes. “Um…”

“Thank you Mr White.” Isolde tapped her hammer upon the table. “That will do, for now. Next on the agenda, Mr Arthur Pendragon will present the case of the Council of Five Coffee Shops against the redevelopment of the old Police Station site. Thank you, Mr Pendragon.” She waved at him to stand.

This was it. This was what he’d been preparing for. Mouth suddenly dry, he stood up and gazed with sudden panic at the people of his town. His people. He couldn’t let them down now! They were relying on him.

He caught the eye of the sneering Mordred, who whispered something behind his hand to Vortigern. They both laughed and eyed Arthur slyly. Arthur flushed, all words deserting him.

“Ahem!” said a soft voice, and a finger tapped his hand, making him look down.

His notes! Merlin had helpfully typed them out for him, gone through them with highlighters, and just now pushed them in front of him. Someone (Merlin) had written _Good Luck, Cabbagehead!_ in purple sparkly pen at the top. Sudden happiness bubbled up behind Arthur’s ribs, banishing all his fears, and he bumped Merlin’s knuckles with his own to show that he’d got the message. He took a sip of water to moisten his mouth, and smiled widely.

This was his moment, and he was ready.

“Dear friends of Albion Town,” he said, smiling. “We’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we? And much though we like the idea of Vortigern’s money, let’s think for a moment about what Vortigern is actually offering here. A branch of a chain. Not even a very popular one at that. But one which seeks to undermine our local independent traders with its non-fair-trade coffee and its generic, own-brand, overpriced cakes. Why on earth would you want something like that here?”

“We don’t!” yelled a female voice from the balcony that rimmed the Town Hall. “We want Percy!” A raucous cheer greeted these words, and a chant of “We want Percy! We want Percy!” Evidently some of the rowdier element of the town had been indulging in local cider at the Rising Sun, no doubt encouraged by Gwaine, who Arthur could just about see waving from the back of the room, near the door.

“Indeed!” Arthur’s grin widened. “The Dragonbucks uniform extends the full length of the arm, and no-one would want that for our Percy, now would they?”

There were warm cheers from the crowd, a sudden shout of “we love you, Percy!” and a ripple of chuckles. They were all firmly on his side—or at least, on Percy’s side, which amounted to much the same thing. But it was not the townsfolk who would be making the decision. The difficult part would be to persuade the planning committee. Several of which—Hengist, Alator, Alined, and Myror, in particular—he suspected might already be in Vortigern’s pay. Three members of the committee—Tristan, Isolde, and Finna—had already indicated that they were inclined to agree with Arthur, and turn down the proposal, but that still left them out-voted. Their only hope was that one of the others would switch sides.

“Joking apart,” he added, catching Alator’s eye and holding it. “There are several serious reasons why we object to a national chain opening a large branch in our unique and historic town. We estimate that in the first year of its opening, three of our independent shops will be forced to close, with a loss of about twenty staff. Then there is the impact on the local economy. The majority of the funds spent in Albion at the moment stay in Albion— indeed, with the introduction of our popular local currency…”

The audience shifted restlessly as Arthur rattled off a series of calculations. The local people did not care much for his sums, but Alator did, and he listened attentively to Arthur’s words and asked pertinent questions about his assumptions. As he answered, firmly, Arthur passed across details of his calculations, mentally thanking Annis for her thorough earlier review.  

“Such a pathetic, liberal argument,” interrupted Hengist Saxon, a huge, barrel-shaped man with a grim smile. “You’re standing in the way of progress.

“Order!” snapped Isolde. “You will get your chance to speak.”

“No, no, it’s all right.” Arthur met his gaze calmly. “I’ve met pathetic little bullies like Mr Saxon before. Let him bluster as much as he likes, the fact is that he doesn’t have a single fact to back up his position.”

A collective “Ooh!” from the audience greeted this statement.

“Quite how he managed to bribe or intimidate his way onto the town’s planning committee, I have no idea,” added Arthur, warming to his topic. “But I do know that a little bit of digging into the finances of that new _Sussex Gardens_ development he pushed through last year, in the lower part of the town, unearthed some interesting discrepancies.”

“How dare you,” roared Hengist, face purpling to cat-calls from the audience. “That’s slander!”

“My dear man.” Morgana beamed at him. “It’s only slander if it’s not true.”

“Order!” Isolde frowned at them. “Although interesting, your accusations are not relevant to the discussion. Please return to the point.”

“I’m sorry, madame chair,” lied Arthur, shuffling his papers. “I just thought that the people of the town, and the committee should know what caliber of person is supporting this proposal. But we’ll save our criminal case for the fraud squad.”

Vortigern flinched visibly even as the audience erupted into raucous laughter.  

By the time the public consultation was over, and the committee’s vote was due, it was terribly late and many of the townspeople had left. Arthur chewed his fingernails as he watched another group get up to leave, and hoped that they’d done enough, while Isolde called the final agenda item.

“The committee has deliberated, and now must vote upon this proposal. Fellow committee members. Will all those in favour of Vortigern’s proposal, please raise your hands.”

“Obviously we should support this.” Hengist’s hand went up at once, as expected, although, oddly enough, Vortigern didn’t exactly look pleased about it. Perhaps the negative publicity about being associated with such a person had put him off?

Alined’s hand was also up, and so was Myror’s. But, to his surprise, Arthur saw that Alator had not moved.

“And all those against?” Isolde raised her hand immediately, together with Finna and Tristan. Arthur bit his lip. But it was only when Alator finally followed suit that Arthur let out his breath.

“No!” yelled Mordred, jumping to his feet. “I won’t accept it! I won’t! Grandfather, you said that I could run the shop, it was going to be mine! They would all have to work for _me_ , you said!” He started to run across at them. “I’ll show them…”

But Vortigern’s heavy arm crashed suddenly across Mordred's chest. He came to an abrupt halt, and struggled briefly before going limp.

“Never mind, Mordred.” Vortigern held on to his drooping shoulders. “There will be other opportunities. Leave them. They’re not worth it.” Spinning Mordred round, he locked eyes with Arthur for a moment. “Congratulations, Pendragon. Give my regards to your father.” Slowly, he led the still protesting Mordred from the room.

“Yes!” An insanely grinning Merlin punched the air. A four to three vote meant that they had done it. They had won! “You did it, Arthur! You did it!”

“It was a team effort!” Arthur, grinned back at him. He jumped up, and grabbed Merlin around the waist, swinging him like a maiden at a barn dance, not caring who saw. “We did it together!”

“Put me down, prat!” laughed Merlin, his eyes sparkling with glee. “You’re making me dizzy!”

All around the room their friends and allies were laughing, hugging and crying. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spotted Gwen embracing Lancelot, while Morgana and Morgause were hugging each other as if their lives depended on it. His eyes widened as he spotted Elena and Mithian shaking hands with Annis. Wow. Hatchets were being buried all over the place!

Suddenly, it was Arthur who found himself in the air. Amid cheers and applause from the remaining crowd, plus a few stray shouts of “We love you, Percy!”, Percival and Leon hoisted him up onto their shoulders. Grinning, Arthur crested the wave of adulation, and allowed himself a moment of triumph.

They did it! They did it!  

From his vantage upon Percival’s not insubstantial shoulders, he could see something gleaming on the seat that Mordred had most recently vacated. Puzzled, he pointed at it.

“What’s that?” he said. He jumped down from Leon and Percival’s shoulders, strolled over and bent to pick it up, and then smiled as he offered it to Merlin.

“My pendant!” Delighted, Merlin took it from him and clutched it to his heart for a second before examining it in more detail. “Its chain is broken, but I’m sure I can get it fixed. It must have fallen off when Mordred left in such a hurry!”  He slipped it into a pocket, and turned back to Arthur, his face shining with joy. “Wow, Arthur, thank you so much! How can I ever make it up to you?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” purred Arthur.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rooting for the underdog is a British national sport. This fic was inspired, at least in part, by the heroic efforts of the town of Totnes in Devon to keep out the encroaching homogeneity of global coffee-shop chains - see https://www.theguardian.com/business/2012/oct/28/totnes-costa-coffee-high-street. And also by various UK towns including Bristol and Lewes, who have introduced their own local currencies to help local, independent traders.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] for Hipsters Versus Dragons by Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772555) by [tibeyg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibeyg/pseuds/tibeyg)




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